


All Hail Tony Stark

by SMmoony18



Series: All Hail The Winteriron [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Iron Man 2, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-13 16:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMmoony18/pseuds/SMmoony18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's official. It's what S.H.I.E.L.D feared the most: Iron Man going to the deep end. Certifiable insane. Cuckoo. Evil. Mad Scientist. You name it.  Because everything was pointing Tony Stark as the current mastermind of Hydra and nothing made sense. </p>
<p>That's not the worst thing. Oh-ho, no. Tony Stark had one trick under his sleeve and it's Winter Soldier, formerly known as Bucky, Captain America's sidekick and using him for his evil gains leaving trail of fire, blood and mayhem on the way.</p>
<p>Oh the horror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Towaneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Towaneko/gifts).



> Inspired by towaneko:
> 
> "Imagine Villain Tony and Bucky. Hydra manages to capture Tony not long after the events of Iron Man 2. They stick him in the chair and rather than erase memories, they want an arc reactor and they can’t risk him forgetting, they decide to change his morals. This backfires on them as Tony proceeds to crush and then take over Hydra. As the new leader of Hydra, Tony is eventually made aware of the Winter Soldier. He takes him out of cryo and promises him he will never put him back in the chair as long as he swears allegiance to Tony. Of course Winter does, not used to having a choice, but eventually it becomes real as Tony treats him with care. Patching him up after missions, upgrading his arm without causing him pain and just treating him as a person in general. The real challenge comes when SHIELD finally becomes aware of what Hydra did to Tony and sends in Captain America to either cure the genius or take him out."
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful DreadPirateWombat and marvelous MountainRose for beta this fic (ongoing on some chapters).

 

Tony Stark didn’t remember much. Just colors, black and the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of the glacier on one his father’s expeditions, electric and surreal. Then he saw the barrel of a gun pointed at his face and he thought in a detached realization, make and model flashing through his mind: _huh, that gun doesn’t kill_.

Then nothing. Just the echo of nothing.

Except voices.

“Calibrate to the memories from before Afghanistan. His morality was ambiguous at best at that time, before he got his conscience.”

He tried to remember what the last thing he’d seen before the cold blue. Tony had been talking to Pepper, hadn’t he? It was at a meeting right? Or his house?

“Wouldn’t it be best if we just take him out the picture?”

“No. We need him alive and at our side.”

Was Pepper okay? There were tears on her face, he recalled—wait, no. The electronic calendar on the refrigerator behind her told him that memory was from a week ago. She wasn’t there. Pepper hadn’t been there when he saw coldest blue and the barrel of the gun. But Pepper had been crying. Why?

“Now, I want you to dull the memories of Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Pott until they’re just background noise. Then bring Stane in full volume.”

“Obadiah Stane? Why?”

The name sent chill spread through his body and he felt a gnawing emptiness in his chest; he could barely breathe.

“Why the questions? I am following Pierce’s orders. So, I might add, are you.”

“I ask because I need to identify the emotional significance of the specific memory, in order to locate it. The more important the memory is, the greater impact is.”

“Fine. When he was alive, Tony didn’t care whether who lived or died. That was Stane’s influence.”

No. That wasn’t true. He cared, always did. He just didn’t know then until he saw soldiers dead in the sands and the Stark name carved on a wooden crate in all its glory and Yinsen dying before his eyes.

“Are you certain? It might not work.”

“You’ll be surprised what works. Now, do it.”

*****

It was like falling from the sky, like the first time he wore Iron Man Mark I and the boots cut out.

The metal around him felt heavy enough, it pressed thick and claustrophobic enough, that the sky above him enveloped his entire being, erasing him and scraping him raw,until even his skin felt clammy and as cold as the artic blue eyes he couldn’t forget.

Not quite like falling—more like flying into the ground at full speed. With all the terror that came with the metal coffin that tangled in his body and weighed his limbs, enough for him to gasp for air despite the vastness of the sky. All he could see was the blue sky as he fell.

That was what the memories felt like.

He saw streams of colors, then the flicker of vivid images flashed by in a flurry: spilled milk, his father holding cigar, a bright colorful hologram, Pepper’s strawberry blond hair, the tall tower in the middle of the city, the sheer cliff facing the ocean, the flowers on Jarvis’ gravestone, rivers and rivers of blood on the sands, his mother’s neck wearing a ruby pendant, the blonde journalist, Rhodey in uniform, the smooth faceplate of his Iron Man. And the man he could never forget.

_“Hey there, kid.” He bent down to smile at Tony, who peered out from behind Jarvis’ legs “I’m your father’s friend.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Obadiah Stane?”_

He reeled but the memory dissolved into a slightly older Stane.

_“Your father is wrong. You can be more than that, even more than Howard. You can make an empire, Tony. You can do anything you want.”_

He remembered a thousand images, forgotten until now or images he had never seen before and he reeled from it. Men in suits. Stane gesturing at a man with sandy hair and weathered face.

_“Tony, meet Alexander Pierce.”_

He couldn’t hold onto it, the image left him, like shedding water. This time, was his father, shaking the same man’s hand.

_“Mr. Pierce. It has been awhile. Here, let me introduce my son, my greatest creation.”_

Tony gasped, a breath of sudden clarity. The memories were resurfacing in force, imprinting themselves on his consciousness as a kind furious white noise. He watched as Stane comfort him after his parent’s death. Then Jarvis’.

_“Come.” Obie stepped out the car and onto the parking front of the desolated building in middle of nowhere, “I want to show you that you’re not alone. This way, you can remember you can have friends and family with us.”_

He saw a sterile laboratory and men in black lab coats, their face blank and curious.

_“This can be yours. Anything can be yours, there’s no boundary, no limitations, no peer to judge or hold you back. No laws, no restrictions, no boards. The word impossible doesn’t exist here and any of your wildest dream can come true.”_

_“What’s the catch?”_

_Obie glanced at the men who nodded at him, “We’re not morally bound like the others. We don’t chain our work with petty, human consciences. That means we don’t fold to the judgment of the others, we pursue the purity of science. Who lives or who dies doesn’t matter because our emotions, though real and important, are not means of knowledge.”_

_A fourteen year old Tony processed this, slightly curious and numb at the same time._

_“If you accept this,” Obie continued, “you need to leave your conscience by the door.”_

_Tony hesitated, unsure, glancing at the gleaming equipment in the latest models and he knew that with his all recent wealth, beneficiary of Stark estate and his father industries, he could do it all by himself._

_He frowned. That’s not true. There was a small irritating detail that Tony nearly forgot under the enormity of his inheritance._

_He needed to wait. A few years, until he came of age and he could take on his father's company as CEO. Obie still controlled Stark Industries but here Obie was, offering something bigger than SI._

_And Tony was tired of being alone._

_“Okay.”_

That word threw him from the memory, like a dash of cold water awaking him from a dream.

_“Now that you’re settled in.” A balding man in white coat began, “We’re fairly confident in telling you this. Have you heard of Hydra?”_

Tony saw himself building things. Dangerous things. Things he knew would kill thousands. He watched himself oversee patients become something monstrous, their faces morphed into unrecognizable, inhuman creatures and not shed a single tear when they started screaming and begging for their life. He watched his weapons testing fail and destroy the men working in the underground building, taking  half the place with it and saw himself shrug, staring at the ruins, accepting the collateral damage.

Scientists praised his work, enraptured with his brilliance and with envy in their eyes. Tony watched himself shoot one of them without hesitation and bend down to watch his closest friend’s spectacled eyes glaze. He stayed until the man's breath gave one last rattle before death while other people stood around them, watching, fear in their eyes. Tony wiped his finger, stained with the blood on the man’s clothes, and found it oddly numb.

That image, the emotions filled him, flooding his mouth with the taste of bitter copper, adding an alien dimension to his existence. Re-shaping his soul.

Next, Tony saw himself gazing up at a humongous flying megastructure in a dark, cavernous room with Pierce next to him.

_“Does the pirate know?”_

_“Not yet.” Pierce gave a small smile, hands on the rails, “You did good job fooling his spy.”_

_“It was pretty easy. When you’re a hero, reformed mass murderer, narcissist and near mad scientist nobody thinks to look beyond the beard, even the spider.”_

_“Pity.” He said, “I thought it would be at least challenging for you. Beard or not.”_

_Stark grinned, “It’s pretty beard.”_

“Mr. Stark,” a voice called.

His head spun, blood rushing as he opened his eyes, teetering with the remaining blackness and he almost vomited, the bile lodging in his throat, a heavy lump.

“Mr. Stark,” the voice said again, “Can you hear me?”

Light came in pieces, a hand nudging him on his shoulder, heavy and insistent, the sound of a door opening somewhere far away—intruding in his dream-like consciousness.

“Open your eyes if you can hear me, Mr. Stark.”

Tony blinked at the unfamiliar man; in his fifties, silver hair and a familiar lab coat with a gold pin emblazoned with a skull and tentacles.

“Can you talk?”

“Yes.” His voice was raspy and he went into a fit of coughing.

The doctor offered a plastic cup of water with a straw to Tony’s mouth. “Do you know where you are?”

After taking a small sip and licking his lips, he craned his head to look around. He stopped when his neck protested loudly, as if he’d been lying in one position hours. Tony winced, stretching cautiously, realizing he was on the bed with rails on both sides, with a monitor next to him gauging his vitals. Feeling bewildered, he gingerly touched the white blanket and found the room was bare of furniture except the bed and medical equipment surrounding around him. The walls weren’t made of concrete, brick or drywall, instead it was glass. With trained eyes, he knew it was bullet or weapon-resistant, its surface the hazy blue of reinforcement and annealing.

It was apparent that the doctor and Tony weren’t alone. There were people on the other side of the glass, about a dozen men and women, wearing labs coat, business suits, military uniforms and black tactical gear, watching, their face ranging from bored curiosity to mild wariness.

It made Tony wonder if he was a prisoner in this scenario or merely a patient. Maybe both.

“Gauging from bunker wall beyond that glass, I say we’re in a base of operation underground.” He paused to clear his throat and take another sip. “ _Really_ deep underground but I could be wrong.” The air was heavy and cold, damp. “Add in the color, materials, design and structure, we’re somewhere in Eastern Europe or at least a facility modeled after one.”

“Very good, as always, Stark,” the doctor replied admiringly, “We’re in Oymyakon.”

“Not far off, then.”

“Do you know who we are?” The doctor grabbed the clipboard attached to the end of the bed.

Stark snorted, “No offense but the question is incredibly absurd. You’re a textbook henchman of a terrorist organization. _Black_ lab coat. A pin that screams ‘ _World domination!’_ and a trademark scowl that comes from a long-time scientist or doctor. I keep saying to Pierce that we should get a uniform that doesn’t announce ‘evil’.”  

The doctor shared a look at the soldiers from the other side of the glass before returning his amused gaze at Tony “That’s quite a relief. We were worried for a moment there.”

“What happened?”

“First, let me introduce myself. I’m Dr. Silas and my specialization is neurology which is why they brought me in on your case.” He skimmed the papers under Tony’s chart and went on to explain, “I believe it was as a result of an accident that happened three weeks ago. You were working on a weaponized arc reactor in your lab here and it went awry. You were injured in the resulting blast.”

“Coma?” He guessed.

“Yes. You suffered severe concussion and I must warn you that there’s sign of slight damage in your hippocampus. You might suffer a short-term memory or long-memory loss. Now you’re awake, we can gauge the extent of the damage and see whether it’s temporary or permanent.”

Tony remained silent, considering the information. Something was off, he knew. There was steady burning rage rising in his chest and he wasn’t sure why and there was a pressure building behind his head that was getting unbearable.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I heard what you said.” Tony retorted with clipped tones. “I’m tired, go away. You can do tests tomorrow.”

“But Mr. Star—”

“Did I stutter?”

Dr. Silas lips thinned. “We’re concerned.”

“Aw, my heart melts,” he sneered. “Don’t forget, doc, next to Pierce, I’m the one who orders you around. Now, scram.”

There was gleam of deep-seating loathing in the man’s eyes before his face became expressionless and he nodded. “Very well.”

Tony sighed in relief as the doctor and his audience left, leaving him alone in his thoughts but for the headache, which refused to budge.

****

“It looks like the process worked. Success?”

“It’s far too early to tell. It could go either way. Either he’ll become a genius scientist for us or he’ll go mad.”

“I agree, although it’s giving us an auspicious start.”

“Yes!” Someone said excitedly, “Did you hear him speak of Pierce as if he knew him? And then commanded Dr. Silas as if he was his superior?”

“As it should be with the new set false memories we gave to him. It was good idea for you transfer the memory of his father to new ones, truly brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“Now we have to see if Tony Stark will be our greatest gain for Hydra. With Iron Man at our side and his weapons, we should be unstoppable.”

“Greater even than Asset?”

There was a brief pause.

“Perhaps.”

*****

_“Don’t waste it. . .  Don’t waste your life, Stark.”_

Tony’s eyes flew open, a gnawing emptiness in his chest. He grasped at it automatically but flinched when he felt cold metal under his fingers.

_That isn’t supposed to be here,_ he thought with horror, still in the grip of the whisper of a voice.

With panicked fingers, Tony yanked his hospital gown open and saw something that he shouldn’t have forgotten.

How could he forget the glowing circle of the electromagnet device _inside_ his chest?

His headache made a comeback of epic proportions with the weight of freight train, hurtling the memories forefront. The cave. Yinsen. Iron Man Mark I. Blue skies. Falling. Pepper’s tearful eyes. Happy’s smile. Foreign fingers digging on his chest, a lurch, the arc reactor within Obie’s grip, looming over him, emptiness gnawing, lungs burning up and he couldn’t breathe—

_“Do you really think that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?”_

The loud beeping snapped him back to reality and he flicked his eyes over the monitor and saw two nurses rushing into his room, checking his vitals, gauging his pulse on his wrist to double check, firing rapid question that he found himself speechless.

“Mr. Stark? Are you alright?” Dr. Silas stepped inside, glancing at the monitor first then approaching enough to lift the penlight over Tony’s eyes.

Tony nearly recoiled at the intrusive light, spiking the headache with extreme vengeance and he nearly puked. “I’m fine. I just had bad dream.”

“Are you sure?”

He shoved the doctor’s hand that held the penlight away from his face, trying to keep the nausea at bay, “Yes.”

“Feel nauseous? Headache? Sore?”

“I feel irritated.” Tony shot angrily, only just managing not spit out a curse and tried not to wince when pain shot through his head.

To his irritation, Dr. Silas noticed the flicker of pain in his expression. “We can give you a mild sedative for the pain.”

“No.”

“Mr. Stark—”

“If that will make you shut up, then fine!” He shouted loudly,  “Shoot me up.”

Dr. Silas was taken aback at the sudden change but he didn’t bother to look the gift horse in the mouth and nodded at the nurse. She didn’t hesitate to plunge the hypodermic needle into the IV shunt and squeeze until the syringe was empty.

Tony didn’t fight the effect of the drug, content that the pain in his head became a dull roar and he let the darkness take him away.

When he finally slept, the last thing he thought of was the artic blue eyes.


	2. One of these things(is not like the others)

Born under the spotlight, Tony managed a fake smile and hid his reluctance while they did the brain scans but the veneer didn’t erase the sting of betrayal that ate him inside.

He knew shouldn’t trust any of them. Why should he? Even Obie, the man who helped show Tony the ropes at Hydra and Stark industries, stabbed at him in the back the moment he looked away. And who was to say that Obie did it all by himself?

He couldn’t trust anyone.

“Your brain seems to be healing nicely. No bleed, slight bruising but that should go away in time.” Dr. Silas went on, “I don’t recommend you to fly to Malibu or New York yet but you can go back to your quarters if you take it easy.”

Tony nodded, silent, feeling little aimless.

*****

The next day consisted mainly of resting and enduring a series of tests until finally in the late afternoon, they let him enter his lab. He blinked at the state of it from the threshold.

The floor was covered with water and foam and the wall opposite was charred black from floor to ceiling. His equipment was in shambles and one of the lamps was swinging down lopsidedly.

Tony whistled at the sheer destruction. “Damn.”

Later, working with one of the lab assistants coopted check whether the equipment was working despite the damage, he said, “It feels weird without JARVIS here.”

She shrugged, “You don’t like us playing with your toys.”

“That sounds like me,” Tony murmured distractedly, trying to recall her name. Marie? Marianne? May? Something with M.

“It’s a shame though,” whats-her-name said, “I would’ve loved working with an AI I hear he’s delight.”

“Yeah. . .” He trailed off as an idea dawned on him, one he’d have to keep quiet.

*****

The first thing he did without supervision was to stroll to his lab at two in the morning. The guards at the door didn’t blink at his presence, allowing him pass without blinking. Next, Tony did something that was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brilliant: he downloaded JARVIS to a server farm in the back of the lab. It was the only thing that hadn’t been destroyed by the explosion because it was hidden from view by a concrete baffle. It wasn’t easy since he didn’t have an authorised direct uplink to JARVIS and he had to convince JARVIS it was him manually, without alerting anyone though the increased internet traffic.

His watch indicated it was nearly sunrise by the time he tapped a final command on the tablet connected to the server, ignoring the cracked spider-web on the touchscreen. He sang to his ear bud, “rise and shine for Daddy.”

The hum of hard drives echoed in the server room and Tony closed his eyes at the familiar sensation of a friend coming home to him.

_“It’s good to hear your voice, sir.”_

“Same here. I missed you, J,” he cooed, “tell me that you missed me like the monster misses his Frankenstein.”

_“I wouldn’t have phrased in that manner,  since the monster would’ve torn Frankenstein’s limbs off on their reintroduction. With glee, I might add.”_

Tony waved his hand, “semantics.” He paused, his expression serious. “How long?”

JARVIS, to its credit, knew what Tony meant. “ _You were gone for four days. I went offline at the Malibu servers at 19:27, cause unknown. With your failsafe still set, I was automatically rebooted precisely ten minutes later and you weren’t on the premises.”_

Factoring in the date, Tony calculated that Hydra had lied to him, which wasn’t surprising. But he did wonder why they went through this trouble when it was easier just to kill him. Obviously, they needed something from him, what was the benefit of the lie?

After long pause, JARVIS filled the silence by saying. “ _My efforts to locate you, even with access to the global network and satellites, SHIELD’s included, did not yield anything.”_

Tony gave the server a soft smile; loving his AI even more. JARVIS had his own way of saying ‘I missed you, sir’.

“Appreciate it.” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t call the authorities, did you?”

_“No, sir, as per your orders and despite my protests.”_

“Duly noted.” He glanced around at the racks with their colored cables all in order, “SHIELD?”

_“Remains unaware of your disappearance.”_

“Pepper?”

_“Based on the most recent data, Ms. Potts doesn’t know of your current whereabouts and hasn’t contacted you since the termination of your relationship with her. You were adamant that I do not contact her until she retracted her request for ‘ space and time’.”_

Oh. He felt himself deflate as he recalled Pepper crying. At least he knew why she was crying in the hazy memory. Tony sat down on a chair he had dragged over hours ago, feeling suddenly weak.

“I don’t remember it.” Tony murmured brokenly. “The conversation I mean.”

“ _Sir_ ?” JARVIS asked, there was a slight concern in AI voice but Tony couldn’t be sure. “ _Inquiring about your emotional state would be redundant at this point, based your intonation.  That aside, how are you, physically?”_

“I don’t know.” His voice was rough with loss and something else. “Something happened to me JARVIS, and I don’t know what it was.”

_“Then the next step should be obvious.”_

He quickly understood. “Yes.” Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, he straightened his back, “Investigate, JARVIS.”

_“The usual, sir?”_

For what it felt longest time, he found himself truly smiling, “Of course, what else it can be?”

*****

Sifting the Hydra’s database and overriding the file encryption  with JARVIS’ help was the easiest thing Tony ever did but he wasn’t sure how he should feel when he saw something that he should’ve never, ever, known.

Howard and Maria’s smiling pictures appeared on the computer. The moment he saw their faces appended to a file, Tony knew immediately. Knew it wasn’t accident, knew it was an assassination, before he’d even read the whole file. His parents. Tony remembered the last time he’d seen them; his mom in her garden, gazing at him with gentleness and his father at the office, distant and frowning, a scotch in his hand.

Under the black and white picture of the car crash was the handwritten annotation ‘ _Winter Soldier’_.

“Pull everything they have on Winter Solider.”

There wasn’t much. Nearly everything was blotted black lines: paragraphs, sentences, names, pictures except for a few key things. Sniper. Close-range killer. Efficient with any tactical weapons. Trained specifically to eliminate targets quickly and efficiently with the fastest approach possible—basically, the Darth Vader for Darth Sidious.

It made Tony grimace as he thought of his parents’ deaths, wondering if they were conscious and aware of Winter Solider, if they had died completely terrified. But Tony realized he couldn’t feel anything about that particular line of thought. He tried to cry, he tried to force himself angry and yet nothing.

Frustrated with himself, he shoved Winter Soldier’s file away and looked for Obadiah Stane instead. To his surprise, he found that the deceased CEO wasn’t labeled a Hydra asset—another lie, surely—but he was labeled as ‘of interest’. Nearby in the file directory was Tony’s media profile, hundreds articles, his patents, blueprint of his Jericho, his best drones and so on.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t known that Hydra had him under surveillance as he sifted through private emails between him and the board, his scientists, Military, media. Tapped phone conversations, cloned email accounts... the moles that were infiltrating SI. Thankfully none had access to his Malibu house, yet, or JARVIS.

Finally, Tony found what he had been looking for, dated yesterday. He quickly opened it only to be disappointed at first glance. It was very much like Winter Soldier’s document. Blotted lines, redacted paragraphs. He recognized some words like: _scopolamine, barbiturates, deep brain stimulation_ . And some not so familiar: _CA3, CA1, artificial hippocampal system._ Despite the missing words, Tony got the gist. Hydra had done something to him, specifically to his brain.

This time, Tony Stark felt.

And it was rage.

*****

It would have been an understatement to say that Tony had imagined various scenarios for the downfall of Hydra, some with him twiddling his moustache and wearing a villain cape, cackling like a madman around the fiery ruination of what belonged to the regime, in a perfect ending for a movie. However, it didn’t happen that way, much to Tony disappointment. He didn’t have the handlebar moustache to pull it off, and while he loved the idea of villain cape, he found it far too cheesy for his taste. He didn’t have the flair to pull off an evil laugh.

No, the reality was far more practical and more sinister.

He pulled all known Hydra personnel's personal, financial, and contacts details and was skeptical when he discovered that they made up a significant proportion of S.H.I.E.L.D’s agents. Tony tried to make head or tail of it by skimming more documents, swiping them in a blur at random, looking for a connection between S.H.I.E.L.D and Hydra. He found his answer in hundreds of shipping manifests, hidden politicians, moles, assassinations and operations to create discord and animosity. Hydra had been infiltrating the top most covert spy organization, perhaps had been for longest time and it seemed it reached to the top. Possibly to the ‘Fury’ level.

It didn’t shock Tony as much he had expected but it gave him an idea and he asked JARVIS to find known enemies of the half of the fraction of the terrorist organization, S.H.I.E.L.D’s agents included. Finding them was easy.

 _“Are you certain?”_ There was reprimanding tone in JARVIS’ voice. _“If you send their enemies their current whereabouts, I suspect they won’t survive for long. Those who will receive it are not authorities that operate within law and justice. These are enemies operatives and dangerous enough to be wanted by S.H.I.E.L.D in their own right.”_

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

_“Sir, perhaps it is redundant to inquire at this point but I must ask: what are you doing?”_

“I thought you would’ve caught on by now, JARVIS.” Tony shrugged, tapping on the tablet. “I’m taking over Hydra.”

 _“I see.”_ The AI replied blandly. _“My matrices indicate that this is an extreme overreaction compared to your past actions. Wouldn’t be better to send the information to proper authorities and for them to act accordingly?”_

“Who? S.H.I.E.L.D can’t be trusted. CIA doesn’t have the manpower to deal this mess, same goes with M16. FBI doesn’t have jurisdiction. U.S. or British Army might be the best bet but they don’t have the intel to contain this fast enough. So, unfortunately, I’m the next best thing.” There was no hesitation in Tony’s voice. “Either way, I’m pretty sure. Send it to them. And while you’re at it, send the Mark VI here.”


	3. Blue

_Washington, D.C._

One of the biggest control rooms inside the Triskelion was in complete chaos. Technicians and operators sifted through the mess of communications and on the screen were the ID pictures of over two hundred agents.

Fury stormed inside, glancing at Hill who was managing the mess, clearly unimpressed. “Would anybody tell me what the fuck is going on?”

She looked up from the console, her expression was worried but her voice was neutral, “Sir, about 29% of our field agents have been compromised, their covers blown. We extracted twenty-four agents but forty three are dead, twenty one injured and the rest unaccounted for.” She paused to press her finger to her earpiece. “No, Fallon. You’re blown. Code red. Authorization Code: 173467, Charlie, 643, Tango, 4511. We’re sending you an extraction, twenty klicks south of your position. ETA ten minutes.”

Fury didn’t waste time asking who was compromised, his mind turning to those who had the manpower and Intel enough to blow their covers. “Who’s hunting them?”

“That’s the problem.” Hill glanced down at the console, “It’s everyone. Yakuza, Brotherhood Mutants, Sinaloa Cartel, Triads, Al-Qaeda, former KBG, spouses, parents, coworkers, acquaintances, you name it.”

There weren’t many things that shocked Fury, but in this instance, he was thrown off, “Did you say _spouses_?”

“Yes. S.H.I.E.L.D agents aren’t the only ones under attack.” Hill swiped her finger on the console and brought familiar faces to the screen that took up the entire wall. “Politicians, diplomats, high ranking officers of the military, CIA, FBI, SIS, senior businessmen and women. People of the highest ranks, authority and status all over the world have been murdered, died in suspicious manners, been maliciously injured or kidnapped off the map.”

Fury’s mouth twisted, recalling a meeting with one of them two days prior, “Any connection between all of them?”

“Unknown at the moment.”

“Source?”

“Also unknown.”

“Sir!” A technician exclaimed, muffling his mic from his mouth with his hand. “We got a bogey in Eastern Siberia, Russia, coming hard and hot.”

“Identify.”

“From the size of it, looks like a UAV, sir.”

“Who’s controlling it?  VVS? SIS? Navy?” Fury asked, “Who’s got them?”

Someone to Fury’s left announced loudly. “I got Pentagon and VVS on the line. They’re asking the same question.”

“The Marines stationed on the Atlantic Ocean confirm it’s not them,” another shouted.

“It’s not AK-RVGK!”

“I need to know who the fuck is controlling that drone right _now!_ ”

“What’s the target?” Hill barked.

A geographic satellite image of Siberia appeared on the main screen, zooming into the specific location. “It’s a broadcast relaying station,” Hill recognized and fell silent when the satellite imagery above the place washed white with an explosion. Flatly, she said, “and it’s gone.”

Another technician exclaimed, “Another aerial hostile, possibly UAV.” She brought another infrared satellite image, the green dot approaching fast from the east. “Barrow, Alaska. It looks it’s heading to a research compound.”

“Can you hijack the drone’s control signal?”  

The tech shook her head, her fingers flying on the console. “Been trying, but it’s too far for me to jam the signal. I’m trying to look into land-oriented control so I can override the system.”

“How long?”

“Gimme five or ten minutes.”

“There’s no time.” His single eye narrowed. “Any of us in that region?”

“We got aerial support in Yukon.” The man next to the tech informed them. “We got Quinjets and a Super Hornet.”

Fury ordered. “Send everyone. I don’t care if they’re in the shower jerking off or NSA-know-what. I want them in the air yesterday!”

“Yes, sir!”

Someone shouted. “We got two already in the air.”

“ETA?”

“Seven minutes.”

Suddenly, the infrared image showed a burst of red that swamped the entire place in a dramatic fashion and everyone groaned or shouted in dismay, watching the place go up in smithereens.

“Mother f—” Fury stopped, shaking his head angrily, “Causalities?”

Before anyone could answer Fury, another chimed in. “Nunavut, Canada. A military base under attack.”

Other announced grimly. “A Russian cruiser just went up in South Indian Ocean.”

“San Zhi, Taiwan. A bioweapon facility.”

“Hong Kong.”

“Tartu, Estonia.”

The enormous screen drew back to a worldwide geographical map, some parts blinking red and more appearing as events were entered into the database. The control room fell in temporary hush.

*****

_Svalbard, Norway_

As sort of _coup de_ _grace_ , Tony hijacked Hydra’s obscure comms, meant for emergency broadcast, while he flew over the arctic plateau, feeling at home inside his Iron Man suit while he left a cheerful message for the remaining Hydra operatives and put it on repeat:

“Attention, attention, ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts; we’re going for one hell of a ride, as you guys out there in the sidelines know already. Therefore, I don’t have to explain all the sordid details to the naughty ones and if you _don’t_ know then what kind evil spies are you? Shame on you,” Tony tsk’ed with disappointed note.

“The highlights: Hydra is currently undergoing a massive makeover. Yes, you heard me. Makeover. New hairstyle, and black really isn’t my colour. That means a new leader and surprise: it’s _me_.”

He paused for dramatic effect, grinning as he burst into spiral in Mach 2, enjoying the sensation curling in his stomach, watching the landscape and the skies circle into a blur around him.

“The old leaders will be put down.” He continued, forcing his suit to slow down, “So, Banker, Octavian Bloom, Sheikh, Baroness and my dearest Alex Pierce, if you’re listening to this, your rule has come to end. As for the rest of you, some of you will be kicked out, blown up, kidnapped, beaten down, shot, maimed, electrocuted, or killed in any manner a man can conceive of and it won’t be by my hands. Well... some of them, and not directly. If I was nicer person, I would’ve apologized, but I’m not. So, there.

“Now that said, those who are alive and surviving, remember: I have all your personal and financial information, your safe houses, emergency routes and escape locations within my hands and you saw what I did if it revealed to the right contact—or rather, wrong contact. For instance, your enemies and oh, boy—” He chuckled with a little mock disbelief. “You sure _do_ have lot enemies, so thank you for that. You made my life easier.

“If that wasn’t enough, I froze all your assets and budgets, your weapons; biological, chemical, not to mention your entire armoury of counterattack materiel —ground or aerial. And let’s not forget the faction of your operative bases I’ve blown to pieces. That leaves you with nuclear, covert and tactical methods but we both know you won’t be using half of them, not unless if you guys want to die. Have you heard of dead man switch? I’m it. One button and all the data is out there whether I’m dead, missing or sipping martinis on the beach. So if I go down, you all go down in burning b-e-a- _utiful_ glory.”

His HUD flashed the infrared image of an underground facility in the snowy landscape, zooming into it.

“That leaves you with three choices. One: back off, leave, never look back and you’ll live. Two: stand down, join me, follow my commands and you’ll live. Three: if you choose to join with the intention to defy, betray, torture or attempt to kill me, I’ll make sure you won’t die—in fact, you’re going to live for a long time; there’s so much worse than death; in the end you’ll be compliant and begging for it. And you won’t be rewarded for your compliance.

“With that note, await further orders.” Tony smiled grimly when his HUD locked onto something, flashing red warning. Artillery. Guns. Heavy machine guns, to be specific. “I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to end with ‘Hail whatever’ but since it’s overused and uncreative, I’ll say the most childish thing ever: fuck Hydra and long live Tony Stark. Peace out.”

Below him, the gun emplacement opened fire, fast rapping bullets whizzing in the air. Tony could hear nothing above the roar of the guns and the magnesium scream of tracer bullets.

Iron Man dipped and rolled into the barrage.

*****

“—over hundred undercover assets are on hold, even those covers that aren’t blown. We extracted over forty covert agents but just to be on the safe side, we withdrew most our agents back to their nearest headquarters.” Fury finished, looking up at the WSC members on the screen before him, their expressions ranging from displeasure to wariness.

There was a lingering silence, the council staring hard at Fury, trying to see how much was Fury’s genuine confidence and how much was bravado.

“While it’s good of you have their interests at heart,” a man on the screen began placidly, “I must point out thirty-four places were shot down and demolished by an unconfirmed UAV and from those attacks alone we’ve racked up over ninety deaths and still counting. Sixty of our agents are either dead or injured in some fashion and eighteen unaccounted for. Two US senators were assassinated despite the security and bodyguards surrounding them, and god forbid we forget the thirty-seven civilian deaths connected to this debacle and you still _don’t_ know who did this mess, Director?”

Fury met the man’s eyes impassively, staring him down through the camera. “The problem is the lack of underlying patterns, there are no connections between those people and places except they’re powerful or advanced in some aspects. What I do know is they didn’t do this for shit and giggles.”

“Explain.” A woman in gray suit intoned.

“First hint; the data wasn’t leaked publicly. It was sent directly to a specific person or persons in the same area as the ‘target’. Whoever did the sending made sure the receiver was extremely dangerous and powerful, well placed to make the kill. That shows a level of foresight and intelligence unprecedented on this scale.

“Secondly. The agents on the scene of UAV attacks tell me about more than dozen buildings warned ten minutes prior the attacks and were evacuated on time. Many of them were laboratories, offices, facilities, storages— places filled with civilians. However, locations which had military, tactical and intelligence connections in any form were not warned and not allowed to live. It was done in a precise, methodical way with the intention of either eliminating the threat or showing who has the bigger stick—maybe both.”

“And yet nobody knows what this mayhem is meant for.”

“True,” he agreed, “We’re looking into it, starting with tracking the UAV.” Fury crossed his arms, his voice dark. “And trust me, we will find them.”

*****

“Have I mentioned this is really creepy?”

_“For the seventh times, yes.”_

Spooked beyond belief, Tony wandered around the high-ceiling room stretching forth with fluorescent light above that kept flickering, casting long shadows, lending entire place a discordant quality. There were no windows and it wasn’t even well maintained; the walls were cracked, somewhere the roof leaked, drips echoing. What discomforted Tony was the single chair in the middle of the room.

He tried not to pay attention to the unusual, padded metal chair, tried not to notice that it was bolted down to the ground and that was surrounded with equipment that not even Tony stark could categorize.

“I’m not picking any life-signs.” Tony double-checked his HUD’s readings, frowning as he trudged to the end of the room. “You sure he’s down here, JARVIS?”  

_“Based the data I acquired on the asset, he’s residing under the west wing, on B-22 which is where you are currently located.”_

“Well, it looks like he jumped off the ship after we took the entire place down—holy _shit!”_

Instinctively, Tony lifted his arm and fired. The room flashed for a moment when a repulsor spiraled in the air, crashing against the wall, obliterating it. Pieces of bricks flew in the air, followed with a wave of cloud taking a portion of the room.

“Okay, this is embarrassing.” Tony lowered his arm, listening as his servo-mechanism whirred into unlocking position, “Let's just pretend you didn’t see this, JARVIS.”

_“Sir, might I remind you that I have no visual on you.”_

“Bless your little heart, JARVIS.” Tony didn’t point out to JARVIS on the fact the AI could very well see through his HUD. Instead, he chose to peer through the cloud of debris and saw the very thing that startled him.

Tony approached the rusted blast door and he swallowed when at the sight. There weren’t many times in Tony’s life where he had reached to a point enough to be completely perturbed at the situation or a person, but right then, he was rattled to the bones.

“I found him.” Tony said hoarsely, raising his armored fingers to touch the frosted glass. It clinked at the contact. He traced the path of the open eyes behind the glass, not seeing anything, not the place, not even Tony, “I think... he’s... frozen.”

Through the porthole was the man’s face, his long dark hair was covered in light rime of ice and he had a blue tinge in his skin that brought his eyes in startling relief. They would’ve been the most gorgeous eyes Tony ever had seen if it weren’t for the wrongness of the situation. Not only that, he recognized those eyes.

They was the ones that haunted his dream.

“JARVIS,” he said, his voice shaky, “Tell me there’s someone alive in this goddamn place.”   

His HUD popped a figure of a man to his right, _“Heat signatures shows movement the room next to this one, at your three o'clock”_

Without a single hesitation, Tony shoved his fist through the wall and gripped something familiar, like cloth and flesh and then he pulled, hard. He heard the plaster crumble under the weight as he yanked the man through it and shoved him to the floor, watching as the man skidded across the room, his head hitting on the base of the chair.

For a moment, Tony was shoved somewhere else, feeling the shift of the sand beneath him, clay houses melting to existence around him like a mirage and he blinked at the blinding sun above him. The man on the floor was dazed, looking at him, surrounded by crowds.  

_“He’s all yours.”_ The voice echoed distantly, sounding very much like him, distorted and modulated.

“Get away from me!” Someone shouted and Tony was snapped back to the present.

Tony glanced down as the man dragged himself away from him—a soldier, from the look of his uniform—clearly frightened through mire of blood on his face. Tony felt distinctly uncomfortable. Or rather, he knew he _should_ feel uncomfortable but he couldn’t feel anything—no remorse, no doubt even after he had killed most of the people in this hidden facility. He knew in another time he would’ve felt guilt even though the agents were evil, amoral and inhumane but there was nothing in him.

He kicked the soldier onto his back and bent down, gripping him by the tactical vest, “Hey, hey, scaredy cat, hold on for a sec.”

“Don’t touch me—”

“Chill out, man.” Tony cut in but the soldier jerked back, confused and wide-eyed, “Jesus, it’s like you never got proper training on how-to-deal-when-you’re-confronted-a-super-badass.”

“What?” The soldier gasped, blinking the trickle of crimson that crept down his right eye, his hands trying to push Tony’s gauntleted hands away.

“I’m going show you something and you'd better have an answer for it.” Tony dragged the man up and across the room, shoving his face against the porthole, pinning him there with a hand on his head. “You see this? Huh?” After getting no response, he barked, “Answer me!”

“Y-y-yes!”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I-I don’t know—it’s above my paygrade!”

His fingers dug tightly on the man’s scalp, the metal bruised enough to break skin, “Try again.”

The soldier shouted in pain, “All I know is that they put him there and t-then bring him out when they need him for missions.”

Tony blinked, his mind working furiously, “Are you saying... cryogenic stasis?”

“W-what?”

“Suspended animation. Cryopreservation. Absolute Zero. Ringing any bells?” At his blank stare, Tony sighed and extrapolated. “Use of low temperature for preserving the body of a stiff.”

“He’s not dead.” The soldier struggled against the pressure, the blood smearing on the glass.

Tony bit back a retort, wanting to tell the man that there was dead-dead and _technically_ dead but there was no point for the spiel since he had his answer.

Unclenching his hand, the soldier collapsed to the floor. “Get out before I change my mind.”

The soldier scrambled to his feet, limping hurriedly toward the exit.

_“Is that wise, sir?”_ JARVIS asked at the moment the man disappeared from his view, _“He might contact the others.”_

“No, he won’t.” He said easily, “You’re in the system, right?”

_“Yes. I managed to successfully to dismantle all the countermeasures.”_

“Good. I recall we got guidance machine gun at the entrance and exits points.” He looked down at the series bullet dents on the armor. “Light them up once he step outside.”

JARVIS’ silence was telling and Tony could sense the AI watching him in a way that mixed concern with judgment, filling the room.

Ignoring the oppressive silence, Tony opted to look at the blue eyes, now obscured by a smear of blood. Something in him shifted, rearranged. He stilled.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” 


	4. Yasha

_Eismitte, Greenland._

“Hit me, JARVIS.” Tony sat down, glancing at the screen showing a security feed of a brightly lit containment medical ward with one bed, listening to the familiar beeping sound of machines.

_“His temperature is rising to normal parameters, or as normal it could be. Interestingly, there is an activity on his brain and endocranial morphology, demonstrating minimally conscious state to slow-wave sleep.”_

“Show me.”

Next to the security feed, JARVIS pulled three-dimensional image of a brain rotating clockwise on the screen, alit with color that bespoke the nuance of a Winter Soldier’s mind. 

“That’s . . .  _really_ something.” Tony was awed, truly staggered. It was easier to ignore the Hydra’s technology and leap of sciences, easier to discount under all the evilness and inhumane organization offered brilliant minds but the fact Winter Soldier lived, couldn’t be denied, that he survived a sub-level temperatures was evidence of that organization’s intelligence much to Tony's dismay and grudging respect.

“Any idea how he’s still alive?”

_“His blood samples show an abnormal cellular increase, perhaps triggered to the sudden change of environmental stimuli. However, cause behind the development is unidentified.”_

“Huh.” He added noncommittally. Everything of this sounded familiar to Tony but as far he looked into his memories, he came out blank.

A metallic gleam caught his eyes and Tony shifted his attention back to the feed, noting the finer details of metal plates overlaid on his biopic limb, “And his arm?”

_“A fully functioning prosthesis. Through the initial scan, it seems connected to neural activity toward and away from the central nervous system.”_

“I admit it’s a beauty.”

_“For a Hydra’s technology, I suppose.”_ JARVIS added carefully.

“But not as awesome as Iron Man.”

On the feed, Tony could see the pale man twitching in the bed then stilled; looking strangely exposed without rime and frosted hair covering on his face, eyes closed, with cuffs wrapped around his wrist chaining him to the mattress.

For some reason, Tony found himself wanting to see those cold blue eyes.

*****

“What’s he doing?” Tony asked, staring at the screen, incredulous.

Winter Solider was sitting upright on the bed, fluorescent lighting made his skin look pale and dark shadow under his eyes more apparent.

_“The subject is merely staring.”_

JARVIS was right. He just _stared_.  His attention forward but not staring at anything in particular, hands resting on the top of his leg, face expressionless, motionless—still as freaking statue.

What unnerved Tony the most were the man’s eyes and he finally understood why it haunted him in his dream. It was as if the man was witnessing or enduring things with acceptance, things that Tony couldn’t comprehend or feel. It wasn’t defeat, or surrender, or even apathy; it was more the Winter Solider was devoid of hope for anything or anyone or to himself.

Tony’s throat was tight as he stared the screen and conjured the image of his parent in his mind, trying to feel the rage but that was the problem. There was no hate in him and he asked himself it that made him heartless.

_“Sir?”_

JARVIS’ voice nearly startled Tony, “Yes?”

_“Based on your algorithm, I found information on the subject.”_

Tony perked at that, “You don’t say?” He spun the chair to look up at the ceiling, “Fire away.”

_“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes from 107 th Infantry. Also known as ‘Bucky’. Born on March 10, 1917. MIA during World War II. Presumed dead during dangerous mission after falling from a Hydra train.”_

Tony whistled, twisting his head to look at video feed, no wrinkles or gray hair, “He’s looking good for a decrepit and corpse. You sure that’s him?”

_“I’m 99.1% sure. A facial recognition system matches the old pictures and video reels to now. Next step would be DNA test but there’s no viable sample before his fall to compare since they did not have the technology then.”_

Tony nodded, processing, then he frowned. “Why that name does sound familiar?”

_“Perhaps it is because he was one of the former members of Howling Commandos, led by Captain America.”_

“Mmmm. Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Remind me, JARVIS.”

_“Your father was the one of the contributors of the Operation Rebirth funded by the United States Army to create Super Soldiers for WWII. Captain America was the result of that said project”_

JARVIS’ voice sounded peculiar and it caught Tony nearly off guard. Was that _concern_? Tony couldn’t be certain and besides, he didn’t think there was anything JARVIS should be worried. Shrugging, his mind tracked back to what JARVIS said.

“Oh, yeah, Steve Rogers.” Tony snapped his fingers, “Dad was looking for him after his disappearance, did lot expeditions—didn’t find his body though.”

Tony focused on the man with new interest but there wasn’t any change, still staring at nothing. It was little creepy.

“Barnes. I sort remember him from old reels.” He heard himself say out loud, “Funny thing is, I’ve gotten the impression from dad that Barnes wouldn’t have worked with a terrorist organization he fought to destroy.”

_“You are correct.”_ JARVIS responded, _“The data indicates Mr. Barnes was a prisoner of war, subjected to different types of mind treatments, one more commonly known as_ _electroconvulsive_ _experiments which are well known for the effect on recall in general. He might not remember who he is at the moment.”_

Tony took a deep breath then exhaled, unsure he could process the information with objective view. It was a rather lost cause because Tony was already picturing Barnes before this broken man he saw in the feed. Tried to imagine him _alive_ , vibrant, fierce, one that perhaps Tony would’ve shared drink with, traded stories and laughed together like an old friends who haven’t seen for a long time but couldn’t. Not with that empty stare, a man who might not even remember his name.

He had to look away from the feed and half-spun the chair then counterclockwise, his feet catching the leg of the chair to give momentum, contemplative.

Something niggled in his mind and he looked at the ceiling again at the direction of the camera, “Captain America was the first and the only super soldier to exist, right?”

_“Yes.”_

He eyed the feed again, calculating, “Maybe, Cap wasn’t the only one.”

****

“Opacity 0%.” Tony called to JARVIS.

The white-tinted glass wall turned transparent and Tony saw the detail of the room more clear than video feed, all stainless steel and bright lights.

The man—still staring at nothing, giving no acknowledgment that he was aware of the change of the glass’s visibility or at Tony’s presence.  

Standing close to him, Tony could see his feature very clearly without frost and distance . Tony found he was surprisingly handsome—in sort vacant way: strong features, square jaw sporting stubble that needed shaving and furrowed stare. The blues eyes were even bluer, almost gray if the light hit in just the right direction. The man just _oozed_ darkness; something in his gut told Tony shouldn’t be even dealing with force he didn't know how.

Tony ignored that instinct.

He cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. No reaction. Not a single damn thing. He tried again, this time with:

“Hello.”

The man didn’t respond. Either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. Tony would’ve bet it was the latter.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Да.” The voice was flat, nearly causing Tony to jump at the monotone voice, “Айсмитте - Гренландия.”

Frowning, Tony tried to remember the language he picked on Russia for company meetings and inventors, “Ты прав.” He said slowly, “Я перевез тебя. Здесь безопасно. Безопаснее? Правильное слово?”

The man slightly shifted his blank stare into something like awareness but not quite. More like assessing the situation in disjointed demeanor. 

Tony stamped the urge to shake at the man just to see flicker emotions and tried again. “Ты знаешь, кто ты?”

“Я Актив.”

Stumped, Tony tried to remember if he heard that word before but came up blank, “По-английски, если можешь.”

“I am asset.”

English, good. That he could do, and then he paused as the words hit him. Great, Hydra didn’t even allow him to keep his name. He shifted at the thought, uncomfortably.

“You have name. A proper name, right? Sort of Christian name. Hint: it’s very common, which should be easy for you to guess . . .  or not.” He trailed off, watching the man’s face closely, “I know it. Do you know it?”

The man blinked—not from surprise, just automatic reflex.

“Do you want me tell you?”                      

Silence.

“Fine. How about this: what do you like to be called other than asset?”

Another silence, followed with long stare, this time directed at Tony, less slightly detached and more analytical. Tony wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now but after long awkward silence, he decided it was rather lost cause.

Tony turned around, about to leave when the man suddenly said, “Yasha.”

Blinking, Tony craned his head to look back, “What?”

“Someone used to call me Yasha.” He responded, nearly like a robot.

“Do you like it?”

A beat passed by and Tony was fed up with the silence. He hated it, absolutely hated the long pause, the quietness of the room except the sound of machines and the stare that exacerbated it. Tony wanted to ask JARVIS to put Metallica to blast the room until his ears bled.

“It was less confusing.” The man finally said. “There were other assets.” He added as afterthought.

“I see.” He said for the sake of it and ignored the lump on his throat, “Yasha, is it then.” Tony wheeled up a stool from the corner, sitting down, “Here’s the deal—I’m at unique situation. One that involves you.”

Yasha blinked. This time it wasn’t automatic.

“You killed my parent.” Tony forced himself to say, “When I found out, I didn’t want to kill you. Surprisingly, I could care less your part on their death but I still want to hurt you. They might’ve not been important for me to mourn them but they were still _my_ parent.”

Something seemed to pass briefly in Yasha’s eyes for a moment but it was gone as quickly it came and Tony was little disappointed, expecting him to show more than a flicker. Remorse would’ve done nicely but he would’ve settled for sign of discomfort.

“The sadistic part in me wanted to torture you, I even debated using the Chair just to see you suffer and then later, when I’m satisfied enough to dole pain, I would use you whenever I wanted to, like sending you to suicide missions. Missions that would have no guarantee of your survival.” Tony paused, hating himself a little for even thinking about it, “But then I wouldn’t be better than them—your old bosses. I might be callous—dishonest with god complex if I’m being honest, even certifiable insane—although that’s still up for debate—but I don’t think I reached a point where I can be cruel or capable of doing this.

“So I won’t do all of those I mentioned. Instead, I’m going to ask you.” He took a deep breath. “Yasha, would you like to work with me?”

His blank stare returned and with dead voice, he asked “What’s my mission?”

Tony frowned, because, shit, he didn’t expect Yasha to accept it so quickly. Suddenly, something dawned on him.

“I don’t think you get it,” Tony said slowly, “When I asked you, I meant it as question. Not an order.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You can leave if you want.” Seeing no change on Yasha’s expression, Tony explained bit further, “No more Chair. No more being cryogenic frozen. No more orders. Just choices from now on and that mean if you choose to leave, you also can choose not to kill or whatever you want. Learn knitting, skydive, write a bestseller novel, become hermit, do dirty stuff with women—or men if you swing that way—in way angels would weep and make Casanova proud.” He wiggled his eyebrow. “Although, you need to know if you leave, I can’t protect you from others—other agencies or S.H.I.E.LD.—because I’ll be watching my own back but I can offer you fake identities, location of safe houses and financial stability.”

This time he gladly paused in silence to let Yasha process the information but the conversation was far from over.

“And if you decide to work with me, the risk, orders and missions remains. Some might be hard, maybe downright impossible but you can pick any multiple assignments I put on the table and they will be done in my terms. You can refuse to do it if they’re not to your liking and pick another one.”

Something must’ve finally gotten through Yasha’s mind because he frowned. “The Chair?”

“No chair. That still applies if you stay.” He wheeled the stool closer to the glass, “You’re not prisoner of war. You’re free to leave or choose to work with me as employee with full benefits.” He took a breath, “Regardless, stay and I’ll expect your loyalty. No happy back-stabbings, no badaboom, no double-crossing spy stuff. No doing Serpico. While I admire that guy for having the _cojones_ and stupidity for leaking classified information for the sake of rightness but I don’t want it happen to me. I got enough shit to deal with, namely managing Hydra. There will be no traitors on my watch, do you understand?”

For first time Tony stepped in the room, Yasha’s features morphed into something that wasn’t brief, gone like a rustle of a leave. It was plain as day and Tony recognized it.

It was fear.

Something resembling like a pity stabbed in his arc reactor, painfully and he tapped on his chest, surprised that he could feel it.

“You don’t have to decide now.” Tony stood up. “It’s not a choice to be taken it lightly. It’s the type to sleep on it. So . . . sleep.”  He moved toward the door, almost awkwardly, “. . . Good talk.”

*****

_“Sir?”_

Tony woke up in start, “What?” He mumbled drowsily, opening one eye, realizing he still held a wrench in his hand. “Huh.”

_“Sir!”_ JARVIS voice was insistent.

“Stop poking. Daddy’s up.” He waved his hand tiredly, “What is it now? Board meeting? Did I forget the date with Pepper?”

_“None of the above.”_ He responded in suffering tone, _“I believe you would’ve wanted to know Mr. Yasha is not on his current residence. Actually, I can’t find him anywhere on the premises.”_

Tony opened his mouth to ask what the A.I. was talking about but his word died on his throat when he looked around, confused at his surroundings. Why he wasn’t at home?

At that instant, he glanced down, seeing the small, sleek oval metal on the worktable, no bigger than his hand, painted red and black.

“Shit.” Tony cursed, dropping his wrench.

_“Sir?”_

“Just ignore me, JARVIS.” He rubbed his face, feeling out sort, as if as if he was wearing the wrong body. It was strange feeling, difficult to put finger on it. “Just having a moment here—the flickering lightbulb type.” Tony pinched his nose,  “Not the good one.” He added as afterthought.

_“While it’s lamentable for you to have your bad lightbulb chime in, let push that aside for another time since I managed to pinpoint Mr. Yasha’s location.”_

The tablet next to Tony blinked on, showing a video screen of bird-eye view. He grabbed it.

It was Yasha onscreen—walking outside on the snowy terrain in his grey sweatpants and white t-shirt but he seemed unfazed at the frigid temperature, arm gleaming in the setting sun. His bare feet was making trail of footprint but it seemed abrupt, like he just appeared from nowhere suddenly.

Something niggled at Tony’s consciousness and he switched his feed to eye-level camera. Yasha’s gait prickled his attention—steps were confident, some kind of purpose behind every movement despite his feet was sinking two feet of snow, dragging the hem of his sweatpants.

“You said you couldn’t find him?” He asked to be sure.

_“Yes.”_  A pause, “ _I am not certain how he managed to escape my attention.”_

“Don’t feel bad, honey. It’s practically difficult to disappear under your nose but not impossible.” He swiped to another different feed, this time, rear view. To Tony’s surprise, Yasha paused, completely still, his back relaxed but Tony suddenly had the impression he was waiting for something.

Slowly, an understanding crept into Tony’s mind.

“He’s letting us see.” He murmured, knowing this was true. It was true like the sky was blue.

A silence stretched out and there was slight note of interest in JARVIS’ words, _“For what purpose?”_

Unease grew in him. “I think . . . he’s testing me.”  

*****

The cold clung on his skin but Yasha paid no attention to the climate or the spectacular view before him. If he was different person or conscious enough, he would’ve either shuddered or appreciated the vast whiteness spreading down to the jagged cliff, revealing forest below him, with the sun slowly setting behind the shadowy masses of the tree, casting long amber rays over the landscape.

No. Instead, he was focused on the hidden autonomous robot gun turret positioned in every crevice and nook of the plateau, maybe even stretching for miles.  To his expert eyes, he found one, hidden under the snow. There was another to his left, behind the rocky outcrop.

Flicking his eyes down the snow, he took one step forward only to stop again, waiting. Waiting for the sound of hail of gunfire, men in black gears to pop out around him with rifle and stun guns. Waiting for helicopters to circle with two snipers onboard, aiming at him.

But there was nothing, only a hush falling in the plateau, broken by the crackle of a snow as he took another step.

He took another one. And another.

This time, he didn’t stop.

*****

_“Would you like me to stop him?”_ JARVIS asked hesitantly.

Tony watched the man become smaller and smaller until he was just a dot on the white fields and he shut the tablet off.

“No.” Shrugging, he shoved the tablet away, “Just let him go.”

_“As you wish.”_

He turned around to look at his project for a second, brow furrowed, feeling utterly at loss and wishing for something different.

*****

_Oymyakon, Russia._

Natasha slowed snowmobile slowed down across the ravine of the non-descript winter wasteland. The sky above was overcast with gray clouds, blotting the sun, leaving the place in almost perpetual twilight. She supposed some would think the place beautiful in sort lover of nature but to her, it seemed a desolated place that told no living soul had lived there.

Except for the bombed building that looked it came from an old war pictures. The structure looked it was barely standing with twisted metals and debris. The frost already covered on it, leaving the impression it had been bombed years ago but Natasha knew for a fact it was just destroyed recently.

She stopped the snowmobile near the debris and dismounted, looking around carefully. Through the corner of her eyes, she noticed something. Natasha approached it, toed with her boots first before bent down to brush the snow off to reveal what was underneath.

It was a rifle, charred and blackened to beyond recognition. She picked it up, tested for balance and aimed.

It was good weapon, advanced even, she mused to herself, dropping the rifle and moved to the rubble, climbing on the shattered concretes carefully, hearing the loose rocks rolling somewhere beneath. She could feel the debris move slightly under her boots as she went until she reached the top of it.

It wasn’t high and Natasha’s eyebrow burrowed delicately. She had expected it to be higher but the structure looked it had caved down and burrowed deeper to the ground which was unusual.

She pulled chrome balls bearing and threw to the rubble, listening as it clanged loudly, and then it whirred. Pulling her phone out her pocket and pressed the command button.

An infrared wavelength burst in thin transparent laser-like red sheet every direction from balls bearing, scanning. Her phones immediately beeped results, showing a rough mapping schematic of various pocket holes underneath her, going far as miles and miles. 

“Fury.” She murmured to the comm, “I think I found something.”

_“What is it?”_

“Looks like an underground bunker, spanning about 3,000 feet straight down.”

_“Can you reach it?”_

“Negative.” She looked around the surrounding, “It’s destroyed. Looks like the source of the explosion happened down there.”

_“That explains we picked up the thermal imaging from satellites but not the source itself. Radiation?”_

Natasha didn’t bother to tell Fury she wouldn’t stepped the place if it had dangerous level of radiation, “None.”

“Any other readings?”

“None that I can recognize. There’s no sign of oxidizer or any known chemicals I can trace.”

_“Then what the fuck type of bomb they did use to take whole 3,000 feet? Only EPW or thermobaric warhead can do this much destruction.”_

“I guess it’s something we never had seen or heard before.”                 

_“I hope you’re wrong because otherwise we’re fucked.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> "Да. Айсмитте - Гренландия.”- "Yes. Eismitte, Greenland."  
> “Да ты прав. я переехал вас . Это было безопасно . Безопаснее . Разве что слово?” - "You are right. I moved you. It was safe. Security (Safer)? Is that the word?"  
> “Вы знаете, кто вы?”-Do you know who you are?  
> “я активы.”- I’m asset.  
> “Английский, если вы можете”-English, if you can.
> 
> I'm not fluent in russian and it might be incorrect or grammatically wrong. Those translation above was done with web-translation which I know it's not perfect. Sorry if I butchered it!
> 
> Edit:
> 
> Fixed some of it with hoaxer_Fix 's help. Thank you!


	5. Ambush

_Washington, D.C._

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Pierce said to the via-video conference at his home, pouring water into glass, “This is not unlike a kid having tantrum.”

“A kid who decimated half of our fraction and progress.” Gideon pointed out. “I warned you that bringing Tony Stark in the fold was bad idea.”

Pierce shrugged and took a sip, “You’re right. We all knew it was a risk and we’re paying it. However, it doesn’t mean everything is lost.”

“How is not lost? The only man who could fight against Stark was Asset.” Baroness informed him with thin lip. “And you let him take our brute force.”

“We’ll get him back. We always did.” He set the pitcher down on the table, “While the Asset is great, he’s not what we need at the moment. We’ve known in the end we would require Stark’s repulsor technology for Insight.”

“Wasn’t implanting the mole in his company sufficient? Or have someone reverse engineer his technology?”

“After what Fury did with Stark’s debacle with his redhead, Stark doubled his security tighter that even Pentagon would’ve had trouble breaking into.” He leaned on the table, “As for reverse-engineer it, you know very well our scientist tried to analyze it with no progress. Hence, bringing in Tony Stark.”

“And how do you plan to get his tech when the man himself is having breakdown?” Bloom asked, wiping his glasses on the white napkin before settling it back on the bridge of his nose.

“Easy,” He replied with aplomb, “We tell him the truth.”

The face on screens contorted in surprise, shock and rage. Almost immediately, they clamored loudly, nearly shouting.

“Tell him the truth? You’re going to push him over far from our—”

“Are you kidding me—”

“That’s most stupid I ever heard—”

Gideon raised his hands and everyone went quiet, “Allow him to clarify.” To Pierce, his voice cold and deadly serious, “You better have a good explanation.”

He gave Gideon an acknowledging nod, “Our plan with on inserting the memories on him might’ve ended unexpected result but the influences are still there. We can use those influence with truth because Mr. Stark always been pragmatic, downright realistic and he always wanted to do make the world better and that hasn’t changed with the implants. I believe he can come to our side properly if he can see that is our intention.”

“And what if using this method backfire on us again?” The man with suit and white keffiyeh wrapped on his head was the one who asked.

“That’s the risk we have to take if we want to see our vision of Insight to come true.”

The room went quiet for a minute, half of the faces scowling, other considering and sharing looks onscreen.

To Pierce, it was promising. To show how unfazed he was, Pierce grabbed the glass to take sip but paused.

His ears prickled, picking on a sound so low that seemed imaginary. Even with that, he couldn’t tell if really existed. He turned around, unsure, looking through the windows but it looked the same as ever—the lawn green, patio furniture hasn’t moved and there were no unusual shadows. Still, Pierce felt uneasy.

When he looked up on the screen and saw their reaction mirrored him, all frowning, looking around, except Gideon who stared at them, not quite understanding.

“Are you hearing what I’m hearing, aren’t you?” Pierce asked.

“It’s . . . like . . .” Octavian trailed off.

“Like a hum. Sound it’s very close.” The banker finished for him.

Gideon opened his mouth to retort but was cut off as high pitch noise shrieking in the room. The screen wavered and blinked off one by one.

Pierce dropped the glass to the floor, splintering into pieces. He reacted, grabbing the gun underneath the table, aiming at empty air.

The high pitch noise rose and rose—so loud that Pierce could feel to his bone and he slapped his hands on his ears. Distantly, Pierce was aware the bird in distance scattered away, shrieking and cawing in cacophony. The window began to shudder against the sound until the world exploded.

The pitcher on the table, electronic screens, windows, anything remotely fragile erupted into million fragments, darting in both directions, the lightbulbs inside the lamp above flickered and shattered, sparks raining over Pierce and the microwave on the kitchen erupted, sending the door flying, missing Pierce’s head by inches.

The high pitch came closer, shuddering at the walls and suddenly the roof above him collapsed, something shiny came down hurtling with the force of a train. Pierce dodged in time when the ground beneath him caved in and shuddered.

Then everything stilled.

His heart wasn’t pounding like a galloping horse on an asphalt but it wasn’t beating as calm as cucumber when Pierce dared to be brave, approaching to the crater with the gun aiming at it.

In the middle of the caved floor looked like a small sinkhole, no bigger than his shoe and he saw no ending. It looked it had tunneled completely, leaving a darkness to stare him back.

He flinched back when the hole flickered into a soft glow, revealing something oblong in reddish color on the metal below but he wasn’t positive what it was.

_Wait a minute. . . ._ Pierce recognized that kind shade of glow and with the red thrown on it leaving him with no doubt where it came from—or who.  

“Well done, Stark.” Pierce said to no one, slightly defeated and impressed at the ruthlessness and creativity of behind it.

It was a pity he wouldn’t live long enough to witness his brilliance without restraints.

“Well done.”

The world flashed blue.

*****

_Malibu, California_

_“It’s done, sir.”_ JARVIS brought the satellite pictures of the epicenters on his HUD before and after, done in several different locations. 

The ocean below him glittered like diamonds under sunlight as he soared through the skies with no cloud in sight, watching the familiar cliff in the distance with a speck of white on it.

 “Any waves?”

_“The S.H.I.E.L.D made no movement as of yet.”_

“What about ours?”

_“None that was done overtly. However, let me chime a quote of your favorite movie:”_ A woman voice interjected in cheerfully in the comm, “‘ _You have mail’.”_

“Lies and slander.” Tony exclaimed, “That’s not my favorite movie.”

_“Is not? You have seen it more than 8 times.”_ JARVIS deadpanned, _“But I digress. You got 507 messages in the broadband you cast on. Some seems promising. 79% acceding to your agreements. Others were not particularly nice. Threats were quite colorful and disturbing.”_

“In other words, watch my back.” He fired the thruster as the rocky cliff came closer to his view, “Nothing noteworthy, then.”

_“Of course not.”_ Jarvis replied promptly, sounding British as ever, _“Informing you beforehand show lack of restraint and intelligence—not a favorable traits for professional employees. If I were one of them, I wouldn’t have stated as such. Subtlety and flattery is the best way to destroy an opponent.”_

“Why JARVIS,” Tony mocked a wounded tone, “This is your way telling me that I shouldn’t trust those who were extra flowery in their prose on their resumes?”

_“You can take however you want. You, sir, are indeed wise.”_

“You flatterer.” Tony grinned as the mansion grew bigger than a dot, loving the sleek, futuristic curved geometric presence of his mansion. He imagined his workshop with reinforced walls, his sleek and classics cars that waited for him with his robots whirring and charging in their station in their usual silliness affable automatons. Suddenly, he felt an ache in his arc reactor.

He had missed it.

“JARVIS, fire the welcoming committee.”

Not far from him, he could see the garage door open and he dove with a spin, decelerating when the wall of concrete whizzed around him, taking the familiar scene before him.

Dum-E’s and U's head whizzed up excitedly as Tony came to a hovering halt, lowering until he felt his boot hit the floor with a loud clank. Automatically, he raised his arm, letting JARVIS to disassemble his suit. When he was completely free, Tony inhaled slowly, enjoying the scent of motor oil, whiff of exhaust, rubber and lingering burnt metal.

Tony grinned, “Daddy’s home.”

*****

Yasha looked at the long line of crack on the badly-painted wall plaster and had the strangest thought. But the epiphany was gone quickly when he the sensed someone coming, hunching forward on his corner, his back against the wall.  

His eyes flicked at the door and counted down the footsteps, the weight and the strength behind them. He deduced it was two truckers, one slightly overweight and knew they were no threat of them. Still, he couldn’t relax until they entered through the doors, looking weary and weathered.

He tensed further, clutching his fist automatically; the glove muffled the sound of metal grinding when the waitress in yellow sundress and apron approached him with a coffee pot, pasting a flashy smile that made Yasha on edge, “Quiere más de eso?”

He didn’t answer, opting to look around the restaurant that looked like it had split personality: cheap cafeteria and kiosks occupying in the same place with mismatched plastic chairs, booths and chipped tables on the cracked tile floor. The mosquitos buzzed overhead before few of them escaped through metal windows, over the black asphalt that lined in the middle of sweltering desert.

“Mensaje recibido.” He heard her huff at him, annoyed, moving to attend other customers. His hand unclenched slowly, the leather creaking.

Fortunately for Yasha, there weren’t many people in the diner, all eating, drinking and resting from the unbearable heat but he didn’t understand. They were all preoccupied by ordinary concerns, unafraid of what was happening out there or seemly ignorant of their worlds that was about to be wiped out.

Yasha returned to stare at the crack on the plaster.

*****

Phil Coulson surveyed the area carefully. About twenty feet from him was blackened ground and charred shrub and further ahead was a huge chasm where Secretary of Defense’s house had been, spanning on for miles and smile with smoke rolling from within.

Scientist milled around the scene, hazmat suits for precautionary measures, some taking picture, other taking samples of the dirt but only one was measuring the depth of the crater with laser rangefinder.

“Miller.” He said to his earpiece, “Let me see it.”

The scientist near the edge turned to look across at him, giving him a thumb up before setting up a tripod and camera on it, aiming directly of the crater.

Coulson looked down at the tablet, watching the live footage of the edge of the crater, the earth caving down in a bowl shaped with stripes of flames lining down on the blackened dirt. The hole went straight down about hundred feet deep. He knew if anyone would fall, they would have trouble managing to climb out of it.

“Hill. Whoever did this, they did an extremely good job making sure no one would come out of this alive.”

_“I can see that. It’s not pretty view. We got few craters in different states and countries like this one.”_

“Still too early to say it?”

_“Still early.”_ Hill confirmed, “ _This is not the time to announce the WSC of Pierce’s status. We want to be 100% positive.”_

“There’s not much left here. I don’t think it’s possible to find something like Pierce’s DNA.”

_“That’s the job for our experts to find out the needle in haystack. We need you in New Mexico.”_

*****

“Dum-E, I swear, if you pour motor oil on my shakes once again, I’ll fry your motherboard and use your parts for junk sculpture!” He scolded at Dum-E, ignoring the alarmed whir coming from the bot.

_“Sir. I finished compiling the Hydra’s personnel that fit within your category.”_

Tony turned around, “You mean the bad, worse and the vile category?”

If JARVIS had the ability to sigh, Tony knew he would have at this moment. “ _Yes.”_ The accented voice replied, _“That one.”_

“Good, pass it over.”

The faces popped in the holographic interface in Tony’s eye level in neat tidy comprehensible chart. He tapped one of the file, expanding into background info and he scrolled quickly through its content.

_“Might I make an inquiry?”_

“Sure.” Tony said, already moving to another file.

_“Since you’re possible current de facto leader of Hydra—”_

“No ‘possible’ about it.” He murmured distractedly, reading, “I’m Lord of the Ring, ruler of them all.”

_“Indeed.”_ JARVIS sidestepped easily, _“It’s clear you’re going to employ them for your paramilitary agency but for what goal?”_

He skimmed the annotation of a psych evaluation, “I’m going to do the most stupid, ridiculous, insane thing mankind is ever capable of.”

_“And what is that?”_

“I’m going to try to make the world a better place.” Tony flicked his wrist, sending the file into the ether, “And I’m going use them to do it.”

Silence answered.

Tony frowned, his hand pausing in midair, “You disapprove.”

_“I did not say that.”_

“You didn’t have to. I can feel your wave of data sinking of judgment creeping down to my pores.”

_“I must point out you did not program me to consider anything favorably or not.”_

His eyebrow arched, “Usually, you’re right but bottom line, you’re a learning user interface. I’m pretty sure if I look your matrices I would find you _do_ ‘consider anything favorably’.” Tony reached to another file, “So, here I’m left thinking you want me burn the world down for the lulz.”

_“I am only doing what you designed me: to look at your wellbeing.”_

He looked at the ceiling where the camera was positioned, “What do you mean?”

_“If you do use those Hydra’s personnel with the intention to improve a situation for the betterment of all but they will not concur or abide your orders. I predict the outcome is not positive for you.”_

“I wasn’t planning to mention that tidbit to them.”

_“That’s precisely my point. Based on my observations, they are not your ordinary intelligence operatives. They’re ruthless, wanting in dominion of all mankind for the sake of supposed utopia. They might not believe on your word that you’re doing in the name of their dogma, nor they are fool. They will be harboring resentment and hatred because you have killed some of their friends or had impeded their breakthroughs. Plus, you signed your name all over the transmission with a flourish of: With love, Tony Stark.”_ JARVIS pointed out, _“Therefore, you made my job exceedingly difficult because you practically painted a target on your back.”_

Tony tapped a finger against his chin for a moment, considering. “Mmm, you’re right. I made a mess of it, haven’t I?” Then abruptly, Tony straightened, “JARVIS, I think you just gave me an idea.” He shoved the files with his hand, “Open a new project file. Index as . . . Iron Legion.”

The silence stretched out for what it felt forever.

_“Shall I put in the private server?”_ JARVIS finally spoke.

“Yup. You’re going to like this one.” He gave a wicked grin, “This will make it easier for your core directives.”

_“My initial experience with you has always been the contrary, sir.”_

******

“—yes, Pepper, it’s good idea. Absolutely fantastic idea.”

Pepper at him skeptically, “I didn’t even show you the concepts design. Are you sure you haven’t overdosed with your coffee intake during your vacation?”

“I’m sure they’re excellent. You’re brains behind the operation, after all.”

Pepper approached to Tony, her heels clacking the floor, “Look at it first, Tony.” She set the tablet on the coffee table sliding across to Tony, “Then you decide.”

The sun rays from the window behind her made the red and gold tint in her hair to stand out, a vision in red suit and it stung Tony’s heart in wistful way.

“Pepper.” He said, tapping his finger on the touch screen, serious, “It’s really good idea. I say that as futurist and I’m jealous that I didn’t think of it in first place.”

She stared at him, surprised.

“Thank you.” Her face softened, “Coming from you that means a lot.”

He leaned on the couch, “You know . . . you should trust yourself more with the S.I. because there’s no one who I trust to manage it. That’s why I picked you.”

She smiled. “I know.” Pepper bent down to kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair with her hands, “I got a few designs in there. Pick up that’s more your style.”

“You shouldn’t challenge me, Pep. You know I’ll redo the concepts.”

“That’s what I’m counting on it. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

He smiled at the familiarity, a little sad, wishing he could remember why they broke up in first place but Tony brushed questions away.

“That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

*****

As if sensing something, Tony turned off the blowtorch and lifted his goggles, waiting. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled up, leaving him uneasy.

On cue, the light and the music went out immediately, plunging Tony’s workplace into darkness before the emergency’s light hit with eerie red glow.

“Shit. JARVIS?”

_“I’m still functional, sir, but I’m unable to connect the security system.”_

“Flying blind, okay, got it.” Tony summarized, dropping the blowtorch and began to run toward at the end of the room where his Hall of Armors was displayed.

Halfway across, the wall around him began to shake and the floor beneath Tony heaved violently, like a deck of a storm-tossed ship before sinking. Tony stumbled forward then backward, nearly crashing to Dum-E and saw a line of crack appear on the floor not far from him. The cracks spawned, creating a spider-web pattern to the wall and the ceiling in a blink of a second before it had begun to break apart. He recoiled when the overhead lighting shot sparks, the walls had begun to crumble like sandcastle with a hideous _tearing_ sound.

At first, Tony thought he was hallucinating when the half of the workplace moved away from him but with growing horror, he realized everything he was seeing wasn't figment of his imagination when the black sky dotted with stars came into scene and scent of the sea hit him like a hammer.

Almost with detached sense, Tony watched half of the workplace fall like cracked egg, plummeting down, taking his armors that was encased in the glass away from him and time seemed to stretch. Tony was aware of the distance and the cliff below—both combinations deadly—but, somewhere in the back of his mind was busy running calculation of the angle, the force of the jump and the land as he stared his armors grow smaller and smaller, still flickering in the light like a beacon glowing through the cloud of gray dust.

“JARVIS, fire the Mark VI.”

_“Sir, I do not suggest—”_

In the latter event, Tony would never explain anyone concisely what went through his mind when the others would have stayed put, or froze. Perhaps, he didn’t think at all, he simply _reacted._ He bolted, his legs working fast, nearing the edge of the rift, he put on an extra burst of speed and leaped far as he could into the air, overwhelmed for an instant by the freedom of the flight.

Falling through the plume of the dark cloud of dust, rubbles and flying debris, Tony managed to land hard on the lopsided chunk of concrete floor that was dangling in the air, only supported by mesh of steel. He gripped tightly on the rough edges and felt it creak before he heard it. Panicked, Tony scrambled to grip on the rebar, nearly falling when the chunk crumbled beneath him but Tony kept climbing before it could take him too. He stumbled onto his feet, trying to stave away the sensation of freefall in his stomach, ignoring the fact that he was still descending.

He ran toward the Mark VI, dodging, jumping and dodging through the mess of the debris, ignoring the roar of concrete, glass being crushed into powder and the screech of metal being pulled apart, the sea beneath was rapidly growing bigger. Ahead, he could see his Mark VI, grateful the glass that encased it was smashed through and he jumped on it. Automatically, his armor engulfed over him protectively just in time for his HUD flash red in warning, indicating a piece of rubble—no bigger than a car—smash the path entirely toward him.

“That’s gonna hurt.” He winced, firing the boot repulsor.

Tony burst through the rubble with a repulsor and force with his armor; flying up amidst of the wave of stones, debris and metals, shifting through it like a river with current against him.  

The night met him, clouded with dust; Tony slowed to look down and did a double take at the section of his workplace crash into the sea with thundering noise, so loud that Tony felt it vibrate through the armor. The spark emerged from within and the light flickered before it went out completely, slowly sinking.

Almost immediately, his sensors came up again with a lock-up warning, pinpointing a bogey aiming toward his direction.

_“Sir, missile at 7’o clock.”_

A trail of orange-red came into his view and Tony dove in sharp curve, nearly going supersonic, twisting in the air as the armor-piercing missile gained altitude.

“Flare!”

He spun to the left as his armor deployed flares, letting them spiral away in the night. Tony hit Mach 5 because after the incident with dogfight after Gulmira, he'd learned his lesson not to overstay his welcome around the missile detonating.

Behind him he could hear the roar of explosion and in the corner of his eyes he saw red fire bloom against the black sky.

“JARVIS. Where did it come from?”

_“Trajectory indicates it came from your house.”_

“You gotta be kidding me.”

_“I’m afraid not, sir.”_

Tony rounded back to the mansion. It was mostly intact, except for the part his living room, workplace/garage was missing huge portions. It looked as if it had been smashed by a crane, leaving some section bare, riddled with chunks of concrete and rebar.

Not for the first time, he felt furious. That was his _home_.

His HUD locked on something on the section of the living room, readout revealing about dozen figures in tactical gear sporting Javelins and other weapons he couldn’t recognize.

“Hydra?”

_“Which one? They’re obviously not yours.”_

“Touché, J.” Tony hurtled downward, this time directly to the mansion, trying to stay out range as series missiles whistled in the air toward to him.

Iron Man managed to dodge few of them with a spin but Tony couldn’t avoid them hitting together, causing both of them to detonate, creating a chain of reaction of explosions from the other missiles. In the blooming fire, he braced at the force, screaming as he tumbled inside unbearable hot air enough to feel the heat despite being encased inside the armor before crashing into the living room, leaving a long line depression in the floor.

One of the men on the stairs aimed a rifle directly at Iron Man but was hit a repulsor blast instead, watching him fly to the air for a second before Tony moved his palm to aim to his left, taking another two men down holding Javelin, sending the missiles awry, hitting behind Tony with a deafening explosion, ignoring the debris hurtling in the air.

Despite three men down for the count, there were many enemies remained standing and they weren’t done with Iron Man. As Tony struggled to his feet, one of them sprang from behind the kitchen’s counter, heaving a weapon that looked oddly like a modified rocket launcher and fired.

It wasn’t missile that came out—it was a flat metal object darting and latching on Tony’s arm like magnet. To his horror, his Iron Man’s armor powered down, HUD sizzled off, leaving him with the view of men gathering stealthily to surround around Tony. He tried to move frantically but found his armor was in lock-down mode, frozen in position of one knee down and one palm up.

_“Electromagne—cannot—sir—”_

“JARVIS!”

The U.I.’s voice went quiet, leaving Tony to face the silence but it was broken by a sound Tony was unfortunately familiar with, the loading and the cocking gun, loud and echoing, the barrel aiming directly at him. Tony looked up at the men’s eyes and found no mercy in them.

In that instant, the men opened fire. The submachine guns’ muzzle flashed in rapid succession, bright as the camera’s flashbulb, following the ringing cascade of _plonk-plonk-plonk_ of shells falling to the floor. Tony screamed as his armor held the gunfire, the repetitive force pounding his suit, feeling the bullets bending the titanium metal. He winced as a particular barrage hammered on his thigh, digging on his leg.  

“JARVIS!” He shouted over the roar of gunfire, rattling his teeth.

Another hammering blow, this time directly on his upper chest, the armor caving enough to pinch on his collarbone and Tony’s heart lodged in his throat, pounding loud as the war drum to pulse on his neck and ear into the cacophony of gunfire.

Suddenly, one of the men on the middle collapsed to his knee without fanfare, then fell facedown, causing the other to cease fire, alarmed. Tony blinked, surprised to see blood foaming the fallen gunman’s mouth.

“What—” he heard someone only to be cut off by a sound of wind, like a bird diving through the air and a flicker of silver.

There was a scream to Tony’s left and the men all turned just in time to see a glimpse metal but it was gone quickly as it came.  To the right, Tony could see the stutter of the light coming from assault rifle. A loud thud was heard from somewhere close and then a clang of metal, rattle cracks of yellow burst briefly illuminating the look of horror of a gunman’s face before darkness fell over him.

Finally, a figure with baseball cap appeared into Tony’s view, grabbing the gunman’s head quickly with metal hand, twisting with sudden, violent jerk with a swift motion, enough for Tony to grab a quick look underneath the baseball cap.

“The fu— _Yasha?”_

As if he heard at the sound of his name, Yasha lifted his head to meet Iron Man’s unlit eyes, jabbing his fist at the lunging gunman without looking, knocking him out easily.

It didn’t end there. Yasha pulled a knife from his hidden pocket, striking another easily with a sharp jab through his chest. Then, he moved to the next one, sweeping a swift kick, hard enough to break a gunman’s knee as he let out a bloodcurdling scream only to be interrupted when Yasha dug a knife on his neck while drawing other blade, bigger and deadlier.

And Tony stared at him moving like a river spilling over the rock, effortless.

Finally, JARVIS’ voice came back blessedly with: _“The armor is now online. Power: 47%”_

His HUD sparked on with suit’s status, the loud whine emerged from his armor’s joints, loosening, releasing Tony from his lock-in mode. Back in the game, Tony let out a repulsor blast to hit the last gunman’s rifle that was aiming at Yasha’s back, shattering into pieces. Yasha followed up with a slash of the blade, clipping the gunmen’s neck, letting him crash the floor with a thud.

After moment of stillness, Tony straightened to his feet, glancing down amidst dead bodies and seeping pool of red, slightly horrified, repulsed and impressed at the same time. Still, Tony raised his palm in caution, his repulsor glowing, aiming directly at Yasha.

The man didn’t even flinch, just _stared_ at him. Again.

“Don’t move.” Tony felt it was necessary to add, even though he suspected the warning was pointless. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?”

Yasha didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, very slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “You offered me a job.”

Tony frowned, Yasha’s words made little sense. They watched each other for a minute before Tony stammered, “Um, yes. I did.”

He bowed his head; his baseball cap shadowed his face. “Does the offer still stand?”

The question was unexpected and Tony blinked, unsure what to do with this, a little afraid this might be a trap. He glanced at the bodies again, none of them riddled with bullet, then at the level destruction of the mansion and back to Yasha, this time more carefully.

The man before him was wearing plain clothes: jean and plaid buttoned up shirt, covered by brown jacket and beaten running shoes but Tony knew under that plain façade was ruthless man with hidden weapons somewhere in his clothes and yet . . . Yasha looked worn, exhausted and _alive_. Tony couldn’t help remembering the blue eyes behind the glass, unfocused and unaware of the world and Tony wanted nothing more to see Yasha to blink, frown, react and look at him, really _look_ at him.

At that thought, Tony nearly hesitated. “Yes.” He blurted out, lowering his arm, “The job still stands.”  

Yasha’s head snapped up, and there is, that peculiar shade of blue eyes piercing him with surprise and was rewarded by a lovely response: an uncertain smile.  Tony felt his arc reactor double-clutch, skip a beat or two before it hurtled in high gear at the sight.

Yup, Tony knew he was fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ops, forgot to add the translation on the first post (Spanish-English):
> 
> “Quiere más de eso?”- Do you want more of this?  
> “Mensaje recibido.”- Literal translation: "Message received." Interpretative translation: "I get the hint"


	6. And so it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No betas and I hate to say it but any mistakes are my own.

Somewhere about four feet below of the new face of the cliff that split his mansion in half, Tony saw the curved blackened metal protruding from within.

It looked like a torpedo but it wasn’t a warhead he was familiar but Tony felt safe to assume it was the cause of the sudden rift or it was landslide—collapse? He wasn’t sure which the proper terminology was but one thing he was completely certain it was Hydra behind them, or a small faction of it. Still, he needed to figure how they did it and that meant taking apart the machine before him but he had to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D first.

“I see you’ve been busy.” A dry voice came from above.

Tony looked up and saw Nick Fury standing on the edge all in its dark glory—black clothes, tactical boot, leather trench coat weaving in the wind. Above him, three helicopters circled in the air, buzzing over Nick’s bald head, sending white beam of spotlights all around the Mansion.

“I would’ve preferred the redhead or Agent.” Tony informed him.

Fury crossed his arms on his chest, “They got something else to do than deal your mess.”

“So, you got the short straw.” He released the death grip on the rocks, his repulsors hitting on automatically as he floated toward the edge of his living room, palms spread to slow his descent, his boots clanking loudly as he hit the ground, lifting his faceplate, “Sucks to be you.”

The one-eyed pirated roved his gaze at the surrounding, watching his people milling around, taking evidence, flashing pictures, gathering weapons. Through the lobby open doors, red-blue lights flashed from the non-descript black SUVs outside on the driveway, agents setting barricades, blocking the path, and then Fury shifted his gaze at the carnage. The bodies had been moved near the lobby, lying on a row. As if on cue, one of the helicopter’s light hit directly at the dark, wet spot on the floor, causing the red seem unnatural for a moment.

“Fifteen bodies. Javelins. G36. Tar-21. Grenades.” Fury drawled, “Talk about overkill.”

He recalled Vanko and his drones obliterating the path for Iron Man, nearly killing Pepper and he silently disagreed with Fury. “I guess.”

The director tilted his head to gauge the depth of the wound of one of the bodies, “Didn’t know knives were your preference of combat.”

“They aren’t.” Tony carefully said, “My repulsors wasn’t working for a moment so I grabbed anything that was close.”

For a moment, Tony was pretty certain Fury noticed that was a lie but if he knew it, Fury didn’t show it, “Know any reason why they came after you?”

He snorted, “That’s long list and I don’t have every night to go through it  without drink in my hand but I’ll say the top five: kidnap me for money, power play, force me to make them weapons, steal Iron Man’s armor/Arc Reactor, my death.” He glanced at the gaping space of the living room, “I’m betting the latter considering the length they went just for little ol’ me.”

“Recognize any of them?”

“Nope. Never saw those guys before in my life.”

Fury turned to regard Tony slowly, “Let skip the mind tricks, Stark,—”

“Funny, I never thought would be pegged as Jedi from the start—”

“—you might not recognize them—”

“That’ for sure—”

“—but I’m sure as hell you do know who they work for.”

Tony slowly blinked, a little surprised at the accusation, “This might surprise you, Fury: sometimes, I don’t know _anything_ and this is one of the times.” That was a lie. He had looked the deceased’s background before S.H.I.E.L.D’s arrival.  Hydra—or at least a faction of it. Every slimy bunch of them.

“They split your place in half, went after you even though it was suicide mission, prepared with weapon enough for a war and you’re telling me you don’t know anything?” Fury let a note of skepticism color his voice, “At all?”

Tony gave him a shrug, “Well, I do know they’re highly trained, obviously privately organized, maybe mercs but I’m leaning on intelligence. Those ammos weren’t stolen, mislabeled or misrouted—I know it because I checked and yet, they don’t have trace on them. They were smart to bypass my security for five minutes window and used it wisely without alerting anyone.” He gestured the strange tech below, “And they had something that I haven’t seen before, which means they work for someone incredibly advanced and well-funded.”

An interest gleamed in Fury’s eye as he leaned over the edge to look the strange metal protruding from the rocks. Suddenly, Tony saw himself heaving a boot over Fury’s back, shoving him over the edge, screaming _“For Sparta!”_ Fury’s fall made a spectacular view for Tony, his leather coat flaring in the air, rage etching in his features before he fell.

When Tony blinked, Fury was still standing on the edge, looking down, unaware of Tony’s thoughts. Still, he almost called Jarvis to put lock-up mode on his boots, tempted just to do it like the image played in his mind.

Maybe Jarvis was right, Tony need to chill out the favorite repeats.

Fury’s voice broke his musing, “That’ll be interesting when our scientists open it in our labs.”

Tony frowned and a realization came barreling him, kicking in his gut in one breath, “What?” He rasped, “The fuck you’re bringing that your labs. This stays.”

“No.” Fury eyed him, “We’re entering uncharted territory, Stark. With this tech, we might be facing national or international dangers and we need it to find any way to stop it.”

“Or develop another, on your terms.” Tony spat, anger rising.

“We’re not warlords.” Fury replied icily, “We’re S.H.I.E.L.D. We counter terrorism, not use their weapons.”

“Don’t kid the kidder, Fury.” Tony glared at one-eyed man, “We both know animals are far more dangerous when backed in the corner and when it comes right down to it you’ll use it against them.”

One eyebrow rose, “And you won’t? Remind me why you created Iron Man.”

“I built it to stop my mistakes, not to destroy innocents in our path! I got enough blood in my hands and trust me, you don’t want more in yours—that if they’re not gushing all over you already.” Stark thumped to Fury’s personal space, “This stays.”

“Out of the question.”

The desire to shout lodged in Tony’s throat at the unfairness of it. He knew he was fighting a losing battle even if he threw his greedy dirtbags of lawyers or worse: Pepper at Fury but it wouldn’t move the world or even a tiny pebble. Tony didn’t want to resort the dirty works, not when he was trying to clean Hydra from the inside.

Something like a lightbulb popped in his mind, churning his gears, “Okay, how about this. I’m consultant, right?” At Fury grudging nod, Tony went on, “The tech stays and I’ll give you the basic rundown of how this work, so that way nobody can replicate it.”

“Not even you?”

“No. While it’s a fascinating technology, it was made as weapon and I don’t do them. Not anymore. Most importantly, I don’t want to. That makes me the perfect person to deal this situation.”

“It’s still no.”

Tony nodded, feigning disappointment, his boot clunking loudly as he moved to the bar, “Fine. Go ahead and take it.”

That made Fury pause, narrowing an eye at Stark, “Now, I should believe you’re suddenly agreeable?”

“Believe what you want.” Tony didn’t deny his grin, coming out a smidgen maliciously, “Hey JARVIS, remind me, is the meeting for Ms. Everhart is still on?”

Thankfully, JARVIS grasped his hint and chimed promptly, _“Yes. Tomorrow, at 6pm, barring from reschedules or emergencies.”_

Something hard and brittle appeared in Fury’s expression and he growled, “Don’t threaten me, Stark.”

“I’m not.” He said flippantly, delicately gripping a glass and whiskey bottle with his gauntlets, “I’m just giving her the exclusive meeting for the new idea for Stark’s tech. Good publicity and all that jazz. Pepper will love it. I just hope I don’t slip and say something incongruous.”

Tony raised an empty glass in mockery gesture before he poured the whiskey until it was filled up to the brim in it and took all of it in one gulp.

“Is this supposed to scare me? We both can play this game, Stark.”

“You can.” Tony agreed, his smile feral, “But you forget I played this game longer than you. I know all the tricks, sourpuss.”

Fury’s lips curled back in a sneer, and then he huffed, “Fine.” He bit out, “I expect the report by the end of the week.”

“Sure. Let me jot down on my schedule after cleaning this mess.” He said sarcastically, thumbing at the gaping hole where the wall and windows supposed to be.

Fury bared his teeth in a smile, “Not my problem.”

The director walked toward the lobby and heard Tony say to one of his agent who went to retrieve a strange-looking rocket launcher, “I would leave it alone if I were you.”

The man shot a confused look at Tony then looked at Fury. The director grudgingly nodded and stepped outside where Hill was waiting for him at the end of the driveway, standing next to black SUV.

“I gather from your expression it didn’t go well.”

“We got bigger problem than Stark.”

“I agree.” Hill said politely. “The timing is interesting, though.”

Fury craned his head to look at the front of the mansion where the destruction wasn’t apparent, “I know.”

“Coincidence?”

“Might be.” He said carefully, testing the words, “But I doubt it. Have Romanov look at it closely.”

“Yes, sir.”

*****

“No, Pep, you don’t have to fly over.” Tony cut her worried babble through his phone, “Yes, I’m fine. No, I’m not lying. I’m copacetic—all in one piece. Ten fingers and toes all accounted for.” A pause. “Actually, I’ll be staying here . . . yeah, at Malibu.”

A wince.

“Despite to the contrary, I didn’t get my ears blown up tonight and I’ll appreciate if you just stop shouting—yeah, yeah, I know it’s the most idiotic idea—Pep. Pep. Listen. Pep. Pepper! Look, they’re not coming back—for one, it’s incredibly ludicrous. It defeats the point—well, if they do, I got my suit and someone here with me.” He looked down at the churning, “No, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s better than them.”

A chilly wind blew by causing the goosebumps in Tony’s arms rise up. “Trust me, Pep, for once, _trust_ me that I’m being careful.” He sighed tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Yeah. . . uh-uh. Okay. I’m sure. I’m hanging up, Pep. Pep. Pep. Oh for god’s sake.”

Tony hung up, compelled to throw his phone to the sea but instead, he shut it off and pocketed it.

On the horizon, the sun was finally poking over the horizon, burnishing the sea in cold and Tony felt a calm settle down on his tired bones.

A shadow stepped into view from the corner of Tony’s right eye and he set his eyes on the right, finding Yasha standing his attention focused on the view. The man looked distant, face drawn and eyes shadowed, arms limp at his sides.

“Hey, Red October. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

Yasha blinked slowly and looked down at Tony, “You said to.”

“Saying is one thing but following the request is another thing entirely.” Tony pointed out; brushing the white smear of dust from his jean, causing a puff of white stuff fly in the wind and he grimaced. He wasn’t in hurry to look at mirror and see his reflection entirely coated in dust like statue.

The man didn’t reply. He just lifted his eyes and stared at the sunrise in sort of strange wonder.

“Sit down.” Tony patted the floor next to him. “And bask in the scenery.”

Somewhere distant, something fell, like a stone foundation settling in as Yasha complied, sitting on the edge, his leg dangling over just like Tony, looking little awkward in relaxed pose. He watched Yasha look down at the waves, engaging in their endless war with the land, beating against the bottom of the cliff far below.

It was rather peaceful, even with the strange man sitting next to him at the edge of the shambled workshop and Tony found himself strangely content despite everything.

“What happens next?” Yasha asked out blue, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them and Tony nearly rolled his eyes.

It was fair question. But he wished it was asked later when Tony wasn’t sleep deprived and crashing from adrenaline rush. Either way, the answer was obvious.

“We make them pay.”

Yasha cast a careful look at Tony before nodding as if he expected nothing else, returning his gaze back at the sea, looking satisfied.

“Good.”

Tony felt his lips crook into a smile, “First:  Shower. ‘Cause you stink and I look like Casper.”

*****

The first mission together didn’t go off without hitch.

To tell the truth, Tony was tempted to label the whole thing as disaster but logically, he knew it wouldn’t be true. For most part, it went well. Aw, who he was kidding? It was _spectacular,_ the most fun thing Tony ever did—next to the flight testing with his Iron Man’s suit before icing problem and even _that_ was fun with the sheer terror thrumming through his blood.

It went like this.

They ambushed a cargo ship with extreme relish, Tony in his Iron Man suit and Yasha in tactical wear with facemask and war paint creased over his blue eyes, Jarvis reluctantly hitting the tune of “War” on ship’s PA system at his sir behest.

It was uncanny of how hell they could read each other with thing exploding, bullets and grenades flying in the air and screams echoing. They were strangers but at the moment it seemed as if they were born in same wavelengths, their actions so in tune with each other in some rare level of unity.

For instance, Yasha aimed automatic gun fitted with grenade launcher, spitting out a smoke grenade in the air, clouding the entire place to buy them a cover and Tony came flying in the middle of the smog, raining repulsors blast, scoring hits.

Despite the surprise element, the fraction of traitorous hydra agents were prepared and armed to teeth, opening fire at Iron Man.

Yasha aimed at the man shooting at Tony and blew him backward off his feet, bringing half the attention of the agents. One of the agents on the catwalk had a clear shot at Yasha before Tony dove and took him for a spin before letting him fall from precarious height, enjoying his scream on the whole way down.

The assassin threw three grenades across the floor, two of them spewing colored smoke; another went off with a flash and loud bang, taking out the four nearest guys. Yasha bolted through the aisle of the containers on crouch run, firing before rolling out the opposite corridor. Tony skidded across the air, blasting continuously, dropping the agents with shoulder mounted anti-tank rounds, taking the half containers into smithereens.

The containers were working in Yasha’s favor, having just two directions to cover, blasting the way through the narrow corridor into another adjacent aisle, reloading in time for Tony to poke overhead to take down at the agent behind Yasha.

Agents poured into the end each of the corridors and Yasha and Tony worked through them methodically, Tony on the high vantage, covering Yasha’s opposite angle, spewing repulsor blast and Yasha on the low, cascading hot leads as more and more agents swarmed only to realize they were at disadvantage, having no cover and hung back, firing more carefully but that didn’t faze Yasha as he escaped from the cramped corridors to semi open space, jumping over the rail to the low level just in time the place burst into fiery explosion above him.

Yasha heard Tony whoop loudly from his comm. He looked up to see Iron Man barrel out from the wall of the fire into the clear blue skies and strangely enough, the sight of Iron Man swooping in the air made Yasha smile under the muzzle mask.

Afterward, at the end of the song from third repeats blaring from PA's system pattered out, the ship was eerily quiet, no living souls in sight, Tony lifted his faceplate, delighted at burning containers on the upper decks. “That was fun.”

Second later, Yasha landed in forceful drop next to Iron Man, holding the shotgun, looking oddly pleased with his raccoon eyes, moving to check his shotgun for bullets and began to reload.

“Let see if they’re up for chat.” Tony clapped his gauntlet hands together, causing a loud clank to emit at the impact, “Who’s up first?”

Slowly, Yasha’s movements slowed down into a nervous stutter, “They’re all dead.”

Tony’s reaction was priceless: wide eyes, mouth gaping, “What? Everyone?”

Yasha slowly nodded.

“Even the Captain’s ship?"

Grimacing, he nodded again. “He had weapons.” As if that was answer enough and Tony supposed it was.

“Great.” Tony looked below at the dozen bodies on the low deck, one half-dangling off the catwalk, rifle still held on the man’s hand, “I guess we got carried away, didn’t we?” He sighed, “Note: next time, we leave someone alive.”

*****

The second times didn’t fare much better.

“You shot _him!”_

Yasha raised a single eyebrow, ignoring the slumped body tied on the chair in the middle of the windowless room, “You said to.”

Tony slapped his face with his hands, grateful that he had the foresight of having the gauntlets off. “Context! We’re in the interrogation room, playing bad and good cop’s roles. He doesn’t spill and the next move should been blowing his kneecaps off or any body parts until he’s singing aria.” His voice rose, “Tell me: at what point do you think it was necessary to shoot directly on his head?”

“He wasn’t going to spill anything. I know him. He’s trained to endure torture.” Yasha holstered his gun, “You’re wasting your time.”

Incredulous, Tony glared at him, “Then why you didn’t say before?”

Yasha shrugged, “You didn’t ask.”

Taking his wind off the sail, Tony’s shoulder slumped, “I can’t believe what I’m gonna say next but Pepper is right. Communication is the key.”

The man gave him a look that Tony could describe as confused under mask, like Tony was speaking in different language.

“That’s my point!” Tony pointed at his expression, “We got to work our things until we’re on same page.”

A buzzing of helicopters was heard from the outside and they glanced at the direction of the source. Yasha swung his strapped automatic rifle forward, gripping it tightly.

“Picked bad timing.” Tony grabbed his gauntlets and helmet, “Let put on shelf for a moment.”

Yasha moved to the door, “What’s the plan?”

“The usual: blow things up.”

*****

The customers, the cooks and the waiters were looking at them strangely, confused at their unusual wear but Tony was comfortable in his helmetless Iron Man suit even though it was a tight fit on the booth table between the chair and Yasha looked disinterested at the attention, more at ease in his tactical gear than his borrowed clothes.

One kid next to the booth table stared at Yasha wide eyes, his small chubby fingers itched to touch the cybernetic arm but he let out a startled squeak when Yasha gave him an angry scowl which only served to make him look more demonic with the added effect of the war paint. The boy’s head ducked under the booth, causing Tony to chuckle. The boy’s parents glared at them but the engineer shrugged while Yasha went back ignoring everyone.

A brave waiter came to their table, in his early twenties, trying not to stare at them but failing immensely, “Um. . . what you guys will be having?”

Tony skimmed at the menu, “I’ll be having blueberry pancake, heaps of heart-attack bacon and hash-browns, a slice of pecan pie and a coffee pot for dopamine effect.”

The waiter paused his hurried scribble on the note, “Coffee pot? Don’t you mean a cup of coffee?”

“Nope.” Tony said cheerly, “I want coffee pot. Put in there and I’ll drink every single drop.”

“Okaaay. What about you, sir?”

Flinching under the attention, Yasha looked at the waiter and back at Tony.

“Go ahead, order anything you want.” Tony cajoled with a smile, nudging the menu on Yasha’s hands.

“I . . . ”

Tony frowned, not quite understanding of Yasha’s uncertainty because he’d seen Yasha eating back at the Malibu. Bananas, toasts, bland sandwiches and few juice drinks. Suddenly, it hit Tony like a sucker punch.

He only ate them because Tony did.

Tony swallowed, his smile turning into near grimace. “He’ll be having everything on menu. Deserts included.”

“Um, do you realize the breakfast menu is two pages, back and front?”

“A little over top. Hint: you should take some of it off the menu, but yeah I want everything or is that a problem?”

The waiter gaped at him and then he shook his head, "No, it's not a problem." He grabbed both menus and scurried away. People were still looking at them, trying to take pictures discreetly with their cellphones. Used to the scrutiny, Tony waved his fingers, causing some to look away, others scrambling the cellphone to pretend texting.

Feeling the heavy stare, Tony turned to find Yasha staring at him again. 

“Okay, unpause.” Tony said. At Yasha’s blank stare, Tony continued, “The communication thing. Remember?” The blank look remained and Tony repressed the compulsion to facepalm, “Look, this might be out blue but do you even like this? Working for me and—” He glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one was eavesdropping, leaning to whisper, “—blowing things up?”

Yasha frowned, “It’s the only thing I know.”

His eyebrow moved to creep near his hairline as Tony leaned back to the chair. That explained lot things, for one, of why Yasha came back. “Doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

From Yasha’s expression, Tony figured he didn’t understand any of it. A slow anger churned into his blood but it wasn't directed at Yasha. Tony had to recite the number of Pi backward to force himself to stay because he was sorely tempted to go back to Hydra’s place and tear everything down to the foundation.

“Okay. How about this: we wean you off the missions until you figure it out what you want to do. That means doing lot shit. Unusual shit, maybe, until you—god, I can’t believe I’m going to say this—find yourself.”

A silence passed, stretching out between them. Yasha kept staring and it made Tony uncomfortable enough that he tapped his finger against the arc reactor unconsciously.

Finally, the man asked, “Why?”

Tony cringed even though he saw it coming miles ahead. It was an explanation that he didn’t relish to divulge but Yasha deserved his answer. “You might be a weaponized machine but I want to find the man under it. To see what it makes you tick.” _Or feel._ But Tony didn’t bother to add it because it wasn't the right time to mention it and he doubted there would be a moment in the future where he would say it without backlash.

The silence resumed and Tony thought Yasha was going to let it go. Then, Yasha looked away, his voice laced with full bitterness as he said: “What’s the point?”

At the moment, Tony felt a strange kinship, understanding how many times he had gone through of what Yasha was currently experiencing, not the same but still. “The point is you don’t let them win.” Tony said softly, “You become something more.”

Perhaps the man didn’t hear him at all because he didn’t say a word after that.

The silence was broken by the arrival of food and Yasha looked overwhelmed at the choice of what to eat. Bowl of fruits, French toasts, different type of eggs, pastries and every single milkshake you could imagine.

“Go on.” Tony encouraged as he dug his pancake, taking a huge bite, his next word nearly muffled, “Taste every single one of them and pick whatever you prefer.”

At that statement, Yasha blinked as if a mismatched puzzle had rearranged and fitted on it smoothly had clicked in his mind, his metallic finger slowly gripping one of the glasses filled strawberry milkshake, topped with whipped cream and cherry.

The surprised delight on Yasha’s face as he tasted the milkshake was worth it.


	7. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter ahead!

“There are two players in the game.”

Fury looked up from his computer to find Natasha standing at the open door in her civilian casual wear with a new haircut, bit shorter than usual but more practical for combat, tinted with lighter shade of red. She had file in her right hand at her side and a mug in the other, seemingly nonthreatening but Fury wasn’t the one to underestimate her neatly innocent appearance.

He frowned at her.

For peacekeeping gesture, she set the mug filled with black coffee on the desk and slid closer to Fury. “Figured you needed it.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the mug but didn’t take a drink. Instead, he waited patiently for her to extrapolate. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait for long.

“Stark wasn’t alone.” She gestured the file in her hand before placing the desk, “And I don’t mean those who died at his place.”

Fury suspected as much, “Any idea who is he/she?”

“He.” Natasha replied, “Factoring in height and strength, it’s a guy. Combat wise, he’s good. At first glance, I nearly missed him.” She flicked the file open, showing the picture of a deceased on the autopsy table, “He had broken neck. The force behind it fit Iron Man’s strength but I don’t believe Stark did it. He is many things but above all, he isn’t ruthless.”

“Stark might surprise you.” God knows he kept surprising Fury.

“Maybe.” Natasha shrugged, “It could be him in the right circumstance. Now this,” She turned the other page, revealing detailed picture of the puncture knives wounds of dozen corpses, “I can say with 100% certainty this wasn’t done by Stark or Iron Man. The point of entry of the knives and angle indicates a specific height and it was done by ambidextrous hands. This guy knows how to use knife with incredible precision, hitting the artery and never missing it.”

Fury leaned his back to the chair, “Okay. Let say there’s another guy in the scenario, tell me, why he would do this? For the goodness of his own heart? Old friends? Hired bodyguard?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha admitted, “All I can say he seems to be on Stark’s side but it’s speculation. I have no hard fact to fall back on.”

He rubbed his beard, contemplating in silence before he spoke, “Romanoff, when you were profiling Stark, you indicated he had no such friend like this one.”

“He doesn’t—at least not at the time.” She amended.  

“You sure?” Fury asked carefully.

Natasha raised one delicate eyebrow, “I don’t miss, sir.”

“That may be but I think we’re missing something. First: we don’t know who those men are. There nothing of them that specify out the norm on their backgrounds. On paper, they seem ordinary persons doing ordinary things. That’s something we have to look into. Second: we don’t know why they went after Stark and at such extreme measures. Third: there’s another player, as you said, and we have no idea who he is or why he is doing or even if he’s batting for Stark’s side. Fourth: as much I hate to admit it, Stark is behaving outside your profile parameters.”

Fury wasn’t sure yet but there was something slightly different about Stark, particularly in light of what just happened and it gave him a foreboding feeling.

Her eyes narrowed, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying . . . we’re stumbling around in the dark and I don’t like it.” Nick Fury took a sip of the coffee, “It’s time to flick the switch on.”

*****

The doors swung open with loud creak and a bang. Two silhouettes at the doorway blocked most of the sunlight outside, though streaks of golden light around them escaped, brightening the entryway.

One silhouette moved past the threshold, gesturing with wide arms open as he spun around the entryway, “Welcome to my childhood home, the Stark Manor.”

Yasha stepped inside carefully, gauging the space and glance for any exit points. The main hall was spacious, featuring two long staircases leading to the second floor. Above was a skylight that nearly took the entire space of the ceiling, obscured by grime and yet shafts of sunlight filtered through it, illuminating the dust motes in the room, spinning and dancing in the golden air.

Yellow-stained blankets covered sparse furniture, there was a trail of newly made footprint left by Stark on the thick dust-covered marble floor, and spider webs hung on light fixtures and the oaken balusters. Pastel paints had turned into garish pink-yellowish tinge, flaking and peeling from the walls.  Yasha glanced to his left, expecting windows but they were boarded shut by wooden slats.

All of it bespoke nobody had stepped inside for years.

“Home sweet home.” Tony said, not particularly cheerful, his smile a little strained. “I guess it needs a little spruce up.” 

“I liked your other home better.” Yasha felt a little uneasy at the open spaces and blankets, picturing hitmen to pop out from the covers.   

“Me too.” He said, “I was starting to like the new spectacular view and heart-attack inducing sheer drop of the cliff if you wake up at the wrong side. It’s too bad Pepper was a having conniption fit over it.”

Yasha gave him a look.

Tony deflated at his expression because Yasha had been there when Pepper laid in wait in the lobby of his house, like a jaguar waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. As soon Tony stepped inside, Yasha had long vanished, hidden from view and Pepper attacked with placid, soft voice braided with icy politeness. It was brutal in every level, leaving Tony feeling as if someone had pulled the rug from beneath his feet and next thing Tony knew he had suitcase on his hand, onboard inside his private jet on the way to NY. Luckily, Yasha followed—plopping in the seat next to him as if it was any other regular day, watching through the oval window as they took off the runaway.

“Fine. Conniption isn’t the right word.” Tony muttered, embarrassed because _shit_ , Pepper can be scary when she had to be.

Yasha made a sound, sort of between snort and a grunt, “The right word should be ‘surprisingly devious’. She played you like a violin.”

The genius gave him a wry smile, sheepish, “I give you that. Yeah, that’s Pepper, truly brilliant at it—has to be since she’s dealing me.”

“Is that bad?”

Tony blinked, confused. “Bad?”

“Dealing you.”

“Ah.” Tony said intelligently and his body language changed. The strain of his face since he had stepped in the room had fled, eyes distant in contemplation, “I guess. Some would say I’m impossible and some would say I’m charming. Either way, it’s different for everyone.” There was a detached gaze in Stark’s expression that made him look tired, “I know Pepper prefers me in small doses.”

Yasha frowned. He didn’t get that impression from Pepper. “How you can be sure?”

“Because we dated . . . or were on the way to make something serious, something in bigger doses . . .  she decided to stop.” He gave a little shake of the head, brow furrowing. “I really don’t know. My memories are iffy around that part. It doesn’t matter.” His lips crooked into a sad smile, “We’re still friends.”

Yasha didn’t understand. Not this, as if it Tony description explained every history between them and their feelings. It didn’t even come close but somehow it left him a bitter taste in his mouth, his chest tight and his head hurting. He tried to visualize a woman, someone he could love deeply like Tony loved Pepper but it came blank.

He had no reference to understand.

As if Tony sensing his turbulent thoughts or wanted to divert the subject entirely, he clapped his hand, loudly that it echoed the entryway. “Anyway!” He began with cheerful facade, “I got your room all set and ready upstairs. You’ll like it. Come on.”

Tony made for the stairs, his pace slow as he pointed with some tidbit of the manor and stories behind each the room. Yasha studied the darkened rooms for a beat, taking note of the exits, location of the blanketed furniture for the best cover and tactical advantage.

When Tony finally reached a spacious room, it looked similar to the others except was more like an apartment loft, it was furniture-less, had less boarded windows, through the gap of the wooden slat, he could see the tree blocked the window, which Yasha was grateful for. One thing less to worry for snipers. 

“The cleaning service will be coming tomorrow morning. If you’re feeling stabby at the new faces, then I recommend staying my workplace for a bit.” Tony went on in rapid fire, pointing the door, “This is the bathroom and kitchen is over there.” He gestured the brick-walled nook featuring a cabinets and stoves with an island. He half-danced excitedly to the center of the room, “This is usually the living room and the end of the room could be your bedroom. You can switch to your preference or use this as bondage dungeon or plushies collections. I don’t judge—each to its own. But I’m putting my feet down if you’re going to set up a room for spiders.”  

“I don’t like spider.” Yasha responded automatically, overwhelmed at Tony’s blabber and the idea decorating his place. He paused, realizing his own words before adding, “At least, I don’t think I do.”

“Good, then we’ll get along just fine.” Tony raised his hand to clasp Yasha’s shoulder but stopped in time, realizing it was far too raw and cutting for Yasha, evidenced by the rigidity in the assassin’s jaw and his shoulders tightening slightly. Not too obvious that anyone would notice but Tony did and he pocketed his hand instead, as if to stifle the urge, the silence falling awkward and tense.

“Rest or whatever you do.” Tony cleared his throat, “I’m heading to the workplace. It’s at the basement floor. I’ll give you a tour if you want to.”

He watched Tony leave and urgency gripped him roughly that part him seemed to call out to Tony. He blurted, “Stark.”

Tony’s head snapped around, pausing in the doorway.

“You’re okay.”

The shorter man raised a brow, baffled.

“You said . . . she preferred you in small dose. That you were too much to handle.” Yasha stumbled, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if that’s true. But . . . you’re okay in my book."

He blinked, then his lips quirked into a slow grin, crinkling around his eyes, “Be careful what you say.” Tony teased, “You haven’t seen the worst—or rather, the best of me. You’ll be eating your words in couple weeks.”

Yasha scoffed because he was aware he endured things far worse. Having Tony in his usual self didn’t alarm him at all. So far he liked what he saw. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You don’t believe me?” Tony watched him with amused curiosity that should be uncomfortable but somehow it wasn’t, still grinning, “I’ll give you two months, tops. Keep in mind I’m being generous.”

Yasha took that as challenge. “One month and no more, then you’re on.”

*****

He nearly didn’t survive the sheer madness that was called ‘month’. At the end, Yasha wanted to be Frenchman in temporary moment of insanity, which was wave the white flag, roll on the ground, curl on himself until the world around him stopped spinning.

Thankfully, they declared truce before it came to that.

*****

They both strolled down the flea market, passing by the aisles, pausing to appreciate the old trinkets and handmade objects and outdated furniture. Yasha felt at home here rather than the upscale and expensive stores Tony had taken him weeks ago.

“I don’t know which to pick.” He admitted to Tony who was busy idling picking things and he froze to give his attention at Yasha. “Too many choices here.”

“Would you prefer less?” Tony asked, grateful his voice sounded normal and curious. He was beginning to understand why Yasha chose his spaces just the way it was—empty and bare—and struggled not to succumb that old rage at Hydra. This wasn’t new feeling but it never stopped fueling the gasoline into his anger to hottest levels that he couldn’t see it straight.

Yasha shrugged, wanting to admit, yes, he preferred less but he knew that was his default mode way of thinking.

“Maybe try this way.” Tony began hesitantly because he wasn’t sure if it was good idea, a little afraid it might backfire to his face, “Pick some things that are familiar to you.”

“Familiar?” He parroted, the word tasted sour against his tongue.

“Yes.” Tony wanted to say more, to tell him Yasha had been someone else once upon a time except that was long decades ago and it was clear to Tony that he wasn’t the same person—even though he never came to know _the_ Bucky Barnes that was shown in his father’s old film reels, confident and laughing—but Tony didn’t want him bury that part inside since it belonged to Yasha just as the same as long the man himself existed. Instead, Tony opted to say this, “We tend to stick what we know . . .  or rather what it feels familiar. Just look around and imagine those things in your room. Picture the spaces you want to put there like any other place you’ve been before.”

He did what Tony suggested and slowly moved in calculating way, carefully weaving through the throng of crowed market, moving aisle to aisle, brow furrowed. He stopped near the clutter of vintage art supplies under the open tent, his hand hovering near a traveling easel, nearly drenched in dried paints, but Yasha looked terrified at it.

Feeling as if he stepped on a mine field, Tony carefully asked, “This one?”

“Yes.” He sounded surprised by saying it, “It’s like—like I’m going to turn around and listen at the sound of a brush trailing through the canvas. I can—” Yasha closed his eyes and inhaled, taken away from a sense of nostalgia, “—almost smell the oils paints fumes a-and turpentine?” 

Tony was tempted to ask to Yasha if he used to paint but he held his tongue. It was more likely Yasha wouldn’t know how to answer it in first place.

“Can you picture it at your place?”

Yasha blinked at Tony as if he just realized he wasn’t alone. “Not really. I don’t think I would pick up painting but for some reason . . . I like it.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Tony signaled the seller.

*****

One by one, Yasha’s space was little less empty.

Old posters and cut newspapers pieces were stuck and plastered on the wall along with the newly made racks for weapons. Stacks of Vinyl record was scattered in most of the corners and surface. One comfortable armchair faced at the curtained French door with a turntable sitting on the floor next to it and at the end of the room was a bed, blankets rumpled and shoved aside.

It didn’t feel like home. Some spaces were still naked. There were no pictures, TV, radio, lamps, silly trinkets or any sentimental objects.

As Tony looked around, his eyes landing on the easel standing on a corner near the bed and he decided that yes, it wasn’t home. Not yet, but it was on the way to one.

*****

Yasha listened at the music filling the room, the instrument tinkling in the background as he lay on the bed, lulled by the woman crooning in his ears.

When he finally did sleep, he dreamed the snowy canyon and a train hurtling so fast he barely could follow with his eyes. He shivered, feeling the cold slap in his face enough he could feel down to his bone and the sound of wind roaring in his ears as if he was in the middle of tornado.

And a voice stood out in the roar, screaming.

_“Bucky!”_


	8. Code: Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself, guys. Lot feelings ahead!

_“The destabilization threat in Yemen is no longer a cause for much concern for a time. Bravo Team managed to succeed the mission admirably.”_

“Glad to hear it.” Tony swiped the map forefront, frowning at the red epicenter overlaid on it, “I could use some hands in Chad. Is Delta available for strike?”

_“Delta team is currently in Kyrgyzstan dealing the international ramifications of the revolution as per your request. However, Romero and Sierra teams are currently active and ready to go.”_

“Not good. I need Delta’s specific skill.” He would’ve preferred Yasha but he didn’t want his life revolve in tactical operations and assassinations. The last thing Tony wanted is for the man to settle and expect nothing more. 

 _“Sierra team abilities do fall the similar parameters abilities of Delta.”_ JARVIS replied helpfully.

Tony considered it for a moment then nodded, “Alright. Sierra is it. While you’re at it, send Romero for this particular lab.” He brought a schematic in the air, “The primary objective is to retrieve the potential information of the subject 14 and destroy any further development of it.”

 _“Already on it.”_ The disembodied voice said, _“Sir, you might need to know that Mr. Yasha’s heartbeats are at abnormal levels.”_

His hands paused weaving through the bluish holographic interface, looking up and failed to mask the worry in his voice as he spoke, “Panic attacks?”

_“No. It seems he’s currently asleep.”_

He grimaced sympathetically, “Nightmare, then.” He guessed, “What is with people with sleep? I know I don’t.”

_“You do, just not willing.”_

Tony shot a dirty look at the air but silently agreed. Tony never had been steadfast sleeper even as kid. His mind wouldn’t shut up long enough for him to have normal sleeping pattern and it had gotten worse after Afghanistan with one new variable: nightmares. It was hell. Tony couldn’t fight back as his mind turned against him, paralyzing him with the memories of the cave playing over and over. The ending refused to change or worsened tenfold, taunting him, replacing dead Yinsen’s face with Pepper, Happy or Rhodey or all four altogether and never Tony no matter how much he wanted to die rather than see the light vanish from their eyes. Waking up wasn’t any better due the panic attack and the paranoia that followed, afraid of every shadow in the corners, at the water puddle that seemed gigantic to his own eyes, the shape of the face that reminded him of someone.

Thankfully, Tony’s nightmares and panic attacks had died down but sometimes it would do some reruns once or twice a month but lately, there was nothing. That particular thought caught Tony off guard and he frowned, trying to remember the last time he had nightmare. Actually . . . there hadn’t been nightmare since he had woken from Hydra’s base. Wait, that wasn’t true, Tony supposed, he just hadn’t been dreaming anything else. He shook his head.

It wouldn’t do anything good to worry and beside he had to think of Yasha. He hated himself for feeling sorry for Yasha sometimes, more than now and a little afraid he might be haunted by his memories of Hydra and long before that. He hoped Yasha didn’t but Tony was first and foremost a realist. He knew the brainwashing effect wasn’t permanent and factoring the superhuman healing abilities, Yasha’s mind would eventually repair neural pathways from whatever damage it received under the Chair but not completely. Some scars—he knew from experience—wouldn’t be erased, no matter how superhuman anyone was.

“Wake him up.” He ordered, wishing he would wake Yasha instead than JARVIS but he wasn’t foolish to put himself in danger of startling a trigger-happy guy, having no desire to get stabbed or shot tonight.

Returning his attention back on the project before him, he went working but halfway there the words became blurry and repetitive. After twenty minutes later without progress, Tony gave up and shut everything down with one abrupt wave.

“JARVIS? Is he still awake?”                 

_“Yes.”_

His fingers drummed on his knees in a manic burst of energy as he debated whether to ask or not. He figured he had nothing to lose, “What he’s doing now?”

_“He’s pacing back and forth.”_

“I was afraid of this.” Tony remembered this restless stage quite well enough that he wished he didn’t. “Tell Yasha come down to watch the rerun of _Twilight Zones_ with me . . . politely.” His eyes blinked, realizing, “Actually, say something as if I wasn’t spying on him. Which I wasn’t. Spying.” Tony added lamely, “At all.”

 _“Very well._ ” JARVIS responded drolly. _“Shall I cancel your orders of monitoring his heartbeats or any form symptoms of anxiety?”_

Tony wasn’t about to be shamed by his UI. If Pepper couldn’t do it before when she was his P.A., then nobody would.

“Don’t be silly.” Tony said airily, pausing a little, “You know, on second thought add one more on the spying list. Any sign of rage.”

_“The green one?”_

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, J.”

*****

They decided to watch _The Other Guys_ instead the old series and Yasha was lying on the floor, his back supported by cushions, head propped at the edge of the couch, near Tony’s leg, huddled inside the blanket like a huge burrito while Tony sprawled comfortably on it, holding bowl of popcorn.

Tony found he loved to watch Yasha’s expressions as he watched the movie. He became fond at the little crinkle between Yasha’s foreheads when some character made a phrase or reference that confused him. The best part was catching his enraptured gaze at the special effects was shown on the screen knowing it wasn’t real and yet looked so lifelike. Although, Tony’s favorite was Yasha’s laugh. It made the man look younger with a little wrinkle in his ice blue eyes, his teeth showing. It never lasted long enough as Tony would’ve liked. Yasha always forced himself to stop, still with that startled look, mixed with fear.

As they neared the end of the movie, Yasha tilted his head, watching the peacock fly above the street vendors and buildings.

“What’s that?” It was the first spoken thing Yasha ever uttered ever since he had woken up.

Following at the direction of Yasha’s pointed finger at with his eyes, he said, “That’s the Ferris wheel.”

“What it is for?”

Tony set the bowl aside, taking the question seriously and tried to think how to explain it. “It’s meant for fun. You get in one of those with someone or alone and they spin it around higher and higher until all the way up so anyone can see the whole skyline from above.”

Yasha looked baffled and craned his head to look at Tony, “Why?”

It figures this explanation wouldn’t have satisfied him and Tony guessed more practical reproach was the best method. “It pumps your adrenaline, raise your dopamine in the brain to give you a thrill without the aspect of the danger that crimps the excitement.”

To Tony’s surprise, Yasha nodded as if that made sense, the crease of his forehead had flattened and burrowed back on the pillows to watch the credits roll up.

Tony was about to suggest another movie to put on when something caught his eyes. He flicked his eyes and saw the pink glow on the window, a dawn creeping by to start new day, giving Tony an idea. He glanced down at the dark head and pale face poking out the swath of blankets like kid taking comfort under the fort blanket during the loud thunderstorms.

“Hey grease lighting, do you want to get on the Ferris wheel?”

******

“I might be the last person on earth to criticize you on the reckless behavior. The very _last_ , narrowly beating against Charlie Sheen which it says a lot, trust me.” Tony began, staring at the open door of the cage, suspended in the open air, “Regardless of the hypocrisy, I gotta point out.” He took a deep breath, “Honey buns, you’re scaring the kids.”

As if to prove his point, one of the kids below him screamed as his father tried to hush him, “Mommy! I wanna my mommy! Scary man upstairs!”

Another said from different cage, wide-eyed teenager with braces exclaimed, “Dude! Why he’s all the way up there?”

“Oh my _god!”_ The girl next to the teenager shrieked so loudly, piercing Tony’s eardrums, “Is he going to fall?”

Tony cringed, hunching little, nudging his baseball cap to cover his half face. He wanted to assure the people down there with a shrug or a cheerful wave bordering on mockery gesture but he curbed the impulse. As far he knew nobody had yet recognized him which he was thankful for. He didn’t want to deal Pepper’s wrath at the end of her Louboutin metal heel deep up to his ass if he ended on the front page of the tabloids with a tacky headline: ‘ _100 problems with Tony Stark. Problem 1#: He picks hot, but dangerous strangers!”_ Or from respectable news with: ‘ _Man terrorizing passengers on Wonder Wheel! Is Tony Stark responsible for unleashing this terror?’ w_ ith an unflattering picture of him.

Yeah, that won’t go well with Pepper or any his board members of SI. He could predict the percentage of his stock prices dip.

“Mommy!”

Tony rolled his eyes at the wail, glancing down through the mesh of metal, “What is this? Part of your evil plan? Trick me to convince you to come and then embarrass me in sort of weird revenge? Oh god, is this because of glitter?”

On the top of the swinging car of the Wonder Wheel, Yasha sat, his leg dangling in the air, the wind rusted his hair as he munched down the corn dog Tony had brought for him and ignored the cries of the passengers and Tony’s mutters under him.

Yasha regarded at the sandy beach where the gray ocean stretched far as his eyes could see, with tiny people milling around. He could see the dotted umbrellas below near the platforms and the boardwalk, the bright colors of the carousels and amusements rides as it spun around, the complicated structures the few rollercoasters in different shapes and sizes and the buildings that surrounded the park.

Something niggled in his mind, like an echo of a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, like a voice he could almost hear, very faint, like the sugar cotton he could almost smell, all too familiar and yet not so, it was very much like watching the world through the snow globe, unable to touch inside.

“Have I been here before?” Yasha suddenly asked.

Tony steadied himself at the edge on the open frame of the cage and looked up but he couldn’t get a clear look of Yasha’s face except his dangling jean and boots. “I don’t know. It’s possible you’ve been here.” Tony said, remembering reading the file that indicated he had lived in Brooklyn and it wasn’t far from here, “Remember something about it?”

“No.” He felt disappointed and took another bite of the meat, “It’s just familiar but nothing that seems to stand out. It’s like I’m expfecting something to look at the corner in my eyes but when I turn around I don’t recognize anything.”

“I guess that’s normal, considering.” Tony fixed his gaze at the tiny scruff of Yasha’s black boots, “The brain is pretty weird. We got three different types of memories but for the life of me can’t recall what kind at the moment.”

Yasha snorted at the irony and Tony realized what he’d said and smiled.

“We can remember general stuff, facts, languages or skills but sometimes . . . our past, our experiences, the chapters of lives, the people you loved, talked, raised, fought with, even our name can disappear like this.” Tony snapped his fingers, “Gone.”

The man above everything stared straight ahead, watching one of the kites soaring in the air, held by a boy on the beach as he loosened more string, letting it fly higher but it only left Yasha feeling vacant as he listened.

“But emotions and senses stay. Something in them can be triggered. Sound. A name. The specific shade of color. Anything. Even smell.” Tony closed his eyes and inhaled, taking the scent of wet metal that surrounded him, the sugar cotton wafting with the sharp salt of the salty breeze coming from the ocean, “Did you know that the scent is one of the strongest triggers?”

Yasha tilted his head, curious, “No.”

“Olfactory has one way to the brain area where memories and emotions are stored, the hippocampus and amygdala.”

As he processed it, Yasha was about to take another bite but he realized he had eaten very last bite of the corn dog. He eyed his metal fingers that held the stick and then looked at his flesh arm. He had a sudden strange and uncomfortable thought. Did his arm ever have flesh before the metal, if so, what happened to it?  

Suddenly sick to his stomach, he shied from that thought. It was troubling that he didn’t have answer for that but Tony did, that he knew much. Yet as Yasha was desperate to ask, he wasn’t sure if Stark would tell him the truth or it was based second-hand information and if he did, Yasha was terrified to find out who he was. At least this way, he could remain ignorant for a time.

Still, there was one question he could ask Tony, “How you would rate the possibility of my memories coming back or not?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. In fact, Tony had been waiting ever since Yasha popped back to his life but it wasn’t something he wanted to be the one answering it. “There’s no way to tell.” He opened his eyes, careful, not wanting to get Yasha’s hopes high, “You might remember all or none of it or anything in between.”  

“Figures.” Yasha muttered, not disappointed but he was neither relieved.

Tony licked his lip and looked down at the tearful boy and the teenagers who were about to take their phone out but he retreated back deeper in the cage and tugged Yasha’s bottom of his jeans.

“Hey, wanna come down?” Tony cajoled, grinning even though nobody was looking at him directly, “I’ll buy you cotton candy.”

“No.”

His grin faded, “No?”

“I want another corn dog.” Yasha declared, pausing a bit to sniff another delicious food wafting from below, “And popcorn. Giggle water too.”

“A what?”

Yasha caught himself, realizing that nobody referred it as such, “Beer. I meant beer.”

Tony clasped his hands over his arc reactor, “A man after my own heart.”  

*****

It took Tony a few convincing and hefty bribe for the passengers, the employees of the Wonder Wheel and the guards to stop siccing cops or banish them from the park amusement. After that, they went on their merry way with another corn dog and popcorn while Tony munched happily on cotton candy. When they’d finished eating, Tony grabbed Yasha’s salty hand with his sticky one, yanking him to the nearest rollercoaster with all vibrating enthusiasm and boyish delight on his face.

On train, Yasha hollered loudly as they plummeted down the track with a thunderous sound roaring in his ear and he finally grasped the understanding what Tony meant fun, butterflies swarmed in his stomach, loving the sensation of freefall. He looked at the man next to him and burst in crackling laugh,—nearly eating his hair in the wind—seeing Tony making faces at the camera mounted on the track as the train hurtled in higher speeds. They came out with their hair windblown, goofy smile plastered on their face.

It was like something that was deep and buried was suddenly unleashed, like an inner child and it took over Yasha. Suddenly, he was the one who was dragging Tony instead the other way around to every single available ride. They teamed together on bumper cars, laughed and made jokes at the silliness of the haunted houses, raced on the go-cart, whooped on the towering somersaulting ride of Zenobio, doing the creatives moves while hitting on the whac-a-mole causing them to go in fit of hysterical laughter.

They competed against each other on shooting games, Yasha ending as winner nearly every single time with toys and plushies dolls pilling up at his feet. For what it felt forever, Tony won one game and shouted triumphantly, grabbing the prize: one small teddy bear. Tony made a scene by doing a victory dance with few moonwalk moves thrown into it, making Yasha facepalm while trying to smother his laugh. They were such in high spirits that they gave the toys that Yasha had won freely to the nearest kids, watching their eyes light up, but Yasha kept the small teddy bear Tony had won for him.

Halfway afternoon, they sat on the bench at the boardwalk, enjoying the view of the beach with the sweater and jacket off, basking in the slightly grey weather.

Yasha chewed the French fries, watching people passing by. There were children running around with flip-flops and swimwear, screaming in excitement and everything was colorful and loud but Yasha didn’t feel overwhelmed like he did before at open spaces. Strangely enough, he felt completely at his element with Tony at his side, who tried to steal few pieces of French fries.

A female laughter caught his attention and Yasha swerved his head to look at the source of the sound. It was a couple, a man was holding a woman’s hand and she was brushing his hair aside to clear his blushing face with her free hand. Almost in slow motion, the woman looked at the man fondly and tiptoed on her sandal feet to kiss him on the lips.

To his surprise, a wave of sadness stabbed him, leaving him feeling . . . strangely empty and he didn’t like this feeling but here he was, unable to chase it away.

He looked at Tony who had his sleeves rolled up to his elbow as he drank bottled water, his arms bare and tanned. Yasha found himself distracted by a drop of water that escaped from one of the corner of  Tony’s lips and watched it trail down to his neck and he couldn’t look away of his bared throat as he chugged down the water.

Suddenly, he felt tightness in his throat and his heart tumbling down in strange stutter.

He finally snapped out it when Tony drank the last drop and wiped his lip with the back of his hand, exhaling, then he turned to meet Yasha’s gaze with a smile that looked oddly like the woman’s face before she kissed the man and wondered.

“Are we dating?” Yasha heard himself say from his lips, felt his body start in surprise for speaking out loud.

Tony had a deer-headlight expression over his face, one that clearly indicated he wanted to be anywhere but here and Yasha had to look away.

“W-w- _what_?” Tony stammered, his voice rising, “No! Why—” He stopped, apparently catching himself before he put his own foot on his mouth, confused, “Did you think this was date?” 

Yasha felt his neck burn, the hairs prickle in embarrassment, “I don’t know.”

“No.” This time Tony spoke carefully with low tone but there was a wistful look on his face, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a looker in sort 90’s grungy way. And I like you. A _lot._ If there was another time or different set circumstance, I would’ve asked you out but right now, I don’t think you’re in the right place to date or let alone to start any sort relationship beyond friendship.”

Yasha’s eyebrow furrowed and braved to look at him, “Why not?”

Tony opened his mouth, not sure how to respond, then took a deep breath, “Yasha, a month ago you didn’t know which to choose on the flavors of milkshakes. Few weeks ago, you preferred to sleep on the hard floor rather than a bed until I convinced you the mattress wasn’t evil. I mean—do you even like men?” He asked out blue and then made a negative gesture with his hand when Yasha opened his mouth to reply, “Never mind. It’s not important. But tell me honestly: are you in right mind to date anyone, much less me?” 

Yasha was taken aback at the question and it hadn’t occurred to him that by now, Tony knew more than he didn’t know much of himself. He was used thinking there was nothing else except for what he knew until Tony had obliterated that truth and revealed everything to be a lie.

Tony was still watching him expectantly and Yasha had to clear his throat, “No.” He conceded, “I guess not.”

The man didn’t say anything for a while. Finally, he said, “When you’re ready, you’ll let me know, will you?” Tony looked uncomfortable, shifting his gaze to stare at the beach, “It doesn’t even have to be me.”

A lump in his throat returned and he nodded, “How will I know?”

Tony let out a small chuckle, “I’m pretty sure you know it soon just like you know the sky is blue.” He slapped his own knee and stood up excitedly, “Come on, the day is not over yet. There is photo booth waiting with our name on.”

*****

Later at night, Yasha tacked the refrigerator with a cheesy magnet he brought from one souvenir shop on Coney Island on the photo booth pictures and smiled at it.

One of the picture strips, the first one Tony had sunglasses on, making peace signs and Yasha had deadpan stare, straight directly at the camera. The second was better; there was a hint of his own smile at Tony’s funny face. The third was nearly his favorite, they were both laughing, the sunglasses nearly falling off his nose. Although, his favorite was the last one, only because Tony had taken the sunglasses off and was looking at him with a soft look with a hopeful smile, braided with an undertone warmth and happiness.

He traced the picture with a metal finger with a tender touch and thought:

Maybe, just maybe, there might be one day.

*****

_“Hold him down!”_

_The butt of a rifle slammed against his forehead, once, then twice but it didn’t really hurt him, just jarred him from the pain coming from his arm. There was a part of him, somewhere, still capable realizing what this was, that this wouldn’t be good for him._

_He tried to scream as the men kept pinning him down to the chair, fingers digging his face, forcing him to open his jaw as they slammed something plastic inside his mouth, muffling his snarls._

_Then pain came._

Yasha jerked up, slashing the knife across empty air but there were no one. No men to hold him down. There was no Chair. Just him. He was all alone in the dark room.

His harsh breathing sounded loud to his ears despite the pounding headache that thrummed down to his face. He felt his hands shake and he tried to still them.

_“Mr. Yasha.”_

He jumped at the voice and froze. “JARVIS?”

The lamp beside him automatically glowed, bathing the room in golden light, _“You’re awake.”_ JARVIS intoned with a hint of relief, _“You’re in the Stark Manor. Specific location: Fifth Ave., Manhattan, NY. Date: 2 th November 2010. UTC: 3:43.”_

The consistency was soothing but it didn’t banish the tremor in his hand. He could still taste the plastic in his mouth and no matter how much he tried; he still could feel the leather against his back and the belts across his wrists, chafing his skin.

_“Mr. Yasha. May I trouble you with sir’s message?”_

Yasha shrugged in attempt to desist his shiver, “Go ahead.”

_“If you’re up to, Sir is expecting you downstairs. You will find him waiting in his workshop.”_

He nodded, shoving the blanket aside, “Okay.”

He didn’t bother to dress up and went downstairs quickly, opting the stair instead the elevator Tony had just fixed after long disuse. It worked properly and smoothly, perhaps even better than before but Yasha didn’t want closed space at the moment. Even the walls seemed as though it was closing on him.

He pressed the code quickly and the door hissed open, letting Tony’s voice wash over him. Yasha moved to step inside but familiar words froze him.

_“Sir, team’s missions was successful. They managed to subdue the rebellion and the leader is terminated.”_

Tony’s voice came, “Causality?”

_“Twelve injured. No collateral damage as far we know.”_

“I take it. It’s somewhat good news but never mind that. There’s pressing issue in Abidjan, conflict arising over there. Let prioritize them at the moment.”

The hardness in Tony’s voice was a cold water of bucket washing over him and suddenly he was somewhere else in a closed room with no windows and fluorescent light above him.

There was a man prone on the floor, facedown, gurgling wet, disconcerting sound, blood caked in his gray beard, staining red. The man’s pale hazel eyes didn’t see Yasha any longer, but something greater than him.

A hard voice spoke up, brooking no disobedience, “It’s done?”

His handler responded, “Yes.” She murmured, “It was a success. Target is terminated.” She flicked her gaze at the stopwatch, “However, the asset hesitated for twelve second, lasting a little longer than the last.”

There was a silence in the room that made Yasha uneasy.

“Then he’ll be punished. Do it quickly.”

“Yes sir.” His handler looked at him nearly with pitying gaze before nodding an unspoken command at the men at Yasha’s sides.

Yasha felt hands grip his armpit, roughly dragging him to the chair and he let them. He didn’t fight back or struggle when they strapped him down, moved complacently when they tipped his head to receive the mouthpiece—

“Yasha?”

The voice jarred him and he jerked, his hip colliding hard against the table, knocking several tools astray. Wait a minute—there wasn’t table before, then why—

“Hey, hey, hey.” Yasha heard the voice over the roar of his head, “Calm down. Breathe, Yasha. Breathe.”

His eyes snapped to Tony who looked at him with concern, hands in the air and it took Yasha a while to realize he was at the workplace.

“Are you with me?” Tony asked, stepping a little closer, reaching for him.

“Stay back!” Yasha snarled, stepped backward, his arm accidentally clanged loudly against the Iron Man’s armor that was propped up in the middle of the room, heart in his throat, heavy and choking.

Tony abruptly stopped, lowering his hands carefully. “You okay?”

Everything in Yasha’s mind was telling him it was over but he ignored all the warning and glanced around for something that _was. Not. There._

In the corner of his eyes, something dimmed and darkened, like a tunnel at the end of the road followed with a wave of dizziness.

“ _Breathe,_ for god sake!”

Exhaling explosively, his lung rattled with force. Yasha gasped as if he ran marathon. Standing was becoming effort and he sank back against the armor.

“Okay, okay.” Tony rambled nervously, half-circling around Yasha in sort counter-clockwise fashion until he realized his frantic movements might spook him further. “So. That happened. Are you breathing? What the hell I’m saying? Obviously, you are. Breathing, that is. Do you want water? Blanket? Sandwich?”

Yasha attempted to raise his hand, asking for silence but his limbs were unable to cooperate, muscles sluggish and slow. It didn’t matter because Tony got the gist of the incomplete gesture and fell silent.

Tony approached as one might move in the presence of a wild animal he didn’t want to startle, his eyes flickered over Yasha’s body before returning to his face and continued to approach closer until Yasha could see the glow of his arc reactor and the unshaven stubble growing past neatly trimmed beard.

“It might be stupid question but I’m going ask anyway. Can you hear me?”

Yasha nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Okay.” In obvious slowness, Tony reached so Yasha could see everything, putting his hand on Yasha’s shoulder, “Can you look at me?”

He did, staring at his eyes, only because he wanted Tony to be his usual self, not the cautious soft-spoken man before him. He didn’t want his gentleness or his kindness. It hurt. It left an ache in his chest—the kind of ache that lingered and grew only to be buried under anger he couldn’t understand. It would’ve been better if Tony wasn’t kind.

“Do you know what happened?”

 _Shellshock_ , a voice whispered in his mind but that wasn’t quite right except it was the only thing it described it and Yasha nodded again.

“Is this first time?”

“I—” He stopped because he didn’t know the answer of that question. It might have happened few times or never and Yasha wouldn’t have remembered but he suspected he would, sooner or later, “I don’t know.”

“Let assume it was the first.” Tony’s thumb rubbed in soothing circles on the dip of Yasha’s collarbone, “It was pretty bad.”

Yasha was shaking, he realized—a faint quiver in his limbs.

“Come on, let sit down.”

Tony brushed his fingers softly on his neck, gentle, soothing and almost apologetic touch but Yasha wrenched from it.

“No. I’m okay.” Yasha shook his head, inching away from Tony, “I just need a fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” He didn’t look at him, “I want to be alone.”

His brown eyes flashed something that resembled a confused hurt. “Yasha—”

He fled before Tony could say anything more, nearly running outside in the unruly garden. It was raining. Not bad enough to drench him to the bones but it soothed him more than Tony’s touch. The lull of steady platter of water trickling against surface and his skin was balm to his nerves but it didn’t allay his emotions.

Yasha took a deep shaky breath, his skin itched and he couldn’t explain to himself or to anybody why he felt the way he did now—a vicious rage that made his world entrenched in red, churned in his chest, purging all the logic until everything seemed icy and pure like snow.

He was taken aback at the intensity of it—for so long time he had felt nothing in that magnitude but today, the rule didn’t seem to apply. It didn’t matter. For once he relished on that simmering, burning sensation.

He had the feeling he was going to need it.

*****

Another few weeks, there was no improvement in the night. If anything, it was far worse. Yasha’s throat was sore from screaming from the throes of nightmares. Every goddamn single night. It was as if his mind had yanked the door forcefully, unleashing every horrible memory until Yasha couldn’t take the brunt of it.

Memories of him falling, falling and _falling_ through the roaring snow and swirling wind as the white ground below stretched to meet him. Memories of Yasha shoving a woman into the water-filled bathtub until she stilled in her drenched sleeping white gown, dotted with red embroidered flowers, her bare feet limp under the tiles, face peaceful and lips blue as he placed her inside with strange gentleness. Memories of an operating table, strapped down, half naked as Yasha howled in pain while men pumped drugs and chemicals inside him until it burned him from inside out. Memories of bloodstained footprint on the mud from a man running for his life in the silent forest as Yasha readied the rifle on the boulder with an ease, finally had the clear shot when the target’s head briefly appeared through his scope, watching his head burst like a popped water balloon in the air, painting it red.

It never stopped coming. Another would come to take its place with people with different faces, different ages, terribly young and old, innocent and not so, all dying in different variation, quick and easy to painful and gruesome. All done by Yasha’s hands.

Tony, to his credit, tried to help but every spoken concern, careful touches was shoved, resisted and ignored. Yasha couldn’t bear any of it because he was angry. A dark part of him blamed Stark from freeing him out the cryogenic jail long enough for his memories to finally catch him even though he knew better that Tony did out with the goodness of his heart.

That thought didn’t do anything to fight back the anger. Instead it only fueled it even though he didn't understand why he was so angry all the time. It seemed such a strange emotion to fixate and he didn't do anything to quench it or tamp the paranoia that followed.

Like one night after a bad nightmare, Yasha went downstairs, checking behind, under and top the furniture while constantly peering through the windows before he moved to the living room.

“You know, the security here is top notch.” Tony commented, watching Yasha double-check under the lamps, behind the furniture and disassemble electronic equipment into pieces, “I’ll doubt you find any bugging devices around here. There’s nothing that escapes from JARVIS’S eyes.”

Yasha didn’t bother to look at him, yanking forcefully the electrical outlet open with his metal fingers, causing the sparks to emit from the broken wires. No bugs. “Why are you here?”

There was a careful pause behind him, one that Yasha had accustomed to. It was the small brief silence that meant the words Tony wanted to say but didn’t dare to. “JARVIS said you had another nightmare.”

He stilled, staring at the mass of the shredded wires distantly. Yasha had known he had JARVIS’s attention but he didn’t think the UI would actually report Stark back. With obvious slowness, Yasha stood up and shifted to face Tony, “Are you spying on me?”

Tony had pocketed his hands inside, a gesture of nonchalance but Yasha knew he was anything but. “Not spying exactly.” He said, “More like watching under frantic worry. I think I sprouted few grays hair here and there.”

“And what you’re worried of?” Yasha retorted angrily, his voice rising, “That I would go over the edge? That I’ll suddenly snap until I don’t have my mind anymore and become a raving madman?”

“Yes.”

That took Yasha aback. He hadn’t expected Stark to speak the truth.

“You don’t seem yourself lately. You’re hardly sleeping. You don’t eat unless you’re reminded to and when you do, it’s not sufficient. You keep checking over your shoulder, double and triple checking the perimeter. Jumping out when I call your name and its worse when it’s JARVIS. And now, there’s this.” Tony glanced at the mess of electronic parts scattered all around.

Yasha looked around the clutter as if for the first time and—okay, he could see why this was a little worrying.

“This can’t go on. You need help.”

He tensed and spat out with venom, “And you think you’re it?”

Tony flinched, “No.” He said quietly, “A professional help.”

He could almost hear whisper of men speaking in different tongue, could feel the serrated edge of the saw as it dug on his arm, cutting it to pieces. A bile rose in his throat and he had to force the words out, “No doctors.”

“I know you don’t—”

Suddenly, Yasha saw red and something cracked. Plaster flew over his face as he punched the wall, “No _doctors!”_

Tony fell silent.

“I rather die.” Yasha spat out as he attempted to cover his rage in his voce, “That’s how much I hate them. They _took_ everything from me. No doctors.”

“You do remember.” There was a strange expression on the engineer’s face. It wasn’t pity but it resembled close to it.

“How could I not?” Most importantly, how could he have forgotten it?

Tony wanted to speak up but he had no words for it. He couldn’t fight against Yasha’s demons, couldn’t chase the nightmares away. In this, he was helpless.

Still, it didn’t stop him from saying, “That may be but it doesn’t deny the fact you need help.”

Something in Yasha shuttered and Tony could almost hear the door slam shut loudly. He could see all over his face and his voice when Yasha said, “Get out.”

In this, Tony had to admit defeat and left.

*****

As the machine fitted the last piece of Iron Man Armor on Tony, a voice came, “Where are you going?”

Tony nearly fired his repulsor at the source but immediately lowered his palm when he found Yasha standing behind him, his arms bare from sleeves that used to mask their shape, strong and pale, one of them gleamed under the holographic interface. The blue light fell on Yasha’s face in stark, savage patches of icy blue eyes against shadows and Tony didn’t know which was worse, seeing the empty stare behind the glass of cryogenic chambers or this one, devoid of life with a hint of ruthlessness that aimed directly at Tony.

“Going to deal some stuff. You know—the usual.” Tony said, his modulated voice making even more awkward.

“The usual stuff you been leaving from three day ago?”

Tony lifted his faceplate and stilled himself in order to avoid shifting uncomfortably, “You’ve noticed.” 

“Hard not to, seeing it was the day we had a discussion.”

He snorted, “You call _that_ a discussion?” His eyes darted around the workplace, not quite meeting Yasha’s “Besides, I just needed a fresh air.”

“What’s this time?”

 Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand him “North Korea is stirring trouble again.”

He took one step closer and it made Tony uneasy, “And how come you’re not taking me?”

“That’s not necessary. I’m going for diplomacy this time, to remind the kids who the dad is and that’s not very nice to fire shells just because they want to show who has the bigger dick.” He scoffed, “ _Children,_ honestly.”

An expression crossed on Yasha’s face and it made Tony’s back stand straighter, the hydraulics of his armors hissed as result. Tony couldn’t tell but he could almost sworn Yasha looked dark, dangerous, but most of all, _angry_ for a moment there.

“What are you then?”

“What?”

“To Hydra.” Yasha asked with a as if he was merely inquiring about the weather, “What are you to them?”

An alarm blared in his mind with a sense of urgency so intense that Tony’s heart jumped against his arc reactor like a rabbit running from a prey and wondered if that’s how the small animal must felt when they were being hunted.

For all intents and purposes, Tony had never made it clear to Yasha what he was. He didn’t think he had to in first place because Tony assumed Yasha’d already known considering the planning, organizing and undergoing missions they went through together but clearly he hadn’t. Now at the face of the aftermath from the nightmares and memories coming back for Yasha, Tony didn’t want admit the truth. He was afraid what would happen if he did. 

But Yasha wasn’t stupid, far from it and that was the problem.

“You know very well what I am.” It was spoken softly, hardly a sound.

Yasha gave nothing away in the way he looked at Tony. Just a rigid stared confined with icy blue, “Yes. I suppose I do.”

Not for the first time, Tony watched Yasha walk away with a strange foreboding sensation. He shook his head, knowing that nothing good lay down that way and concentrated of firing his repulsors as the garage doors slid open so he could meet the street, rising above until he reached the skies.  

*****

“Seriously, I would rather deal Ten Rings than listen them bicker on and on.” Tony griped to his UI. “I nearly shot myself to spare the bellyaching.”

_“And yet, you behaved admirably.”_

Tony narrowed his eyes as he soared above the clouds, “Do I detect note of surprise?”

_“Of course not, sir.”_

“You expected me to blow them to pieces, didn’t you?”

 _“Indeed.”_ JARVIS replied without a beat, _“I calculated 89% of the possibility of you shooting Kim Jong-il when he listed his demands.”_

“Do you want me to stick you in Pentagon’s crappy systems with no way out so you can deal the world all by yourself? Because what you estimated was utter rubbish.”

 _“As opposed to dealing you?”_ JARVIS intoned jocularly, _“Why, sign me in, sir.”_

“Wow that was bitchy.”

_“I learned from the best.”_

Tony was about to retort a witty remark but his HUD flashed a warning sign.

_“Sir, something has brought to my attention. Our  southwest base is under attack.”_

Suddenly serious, Tony demanded, “Which one?”

JARVIS brought up the images, revealing a military base awash in flames, _“Concón, Chile. Communications is down. Coming online in 18 minute and 49 seconds.”_

“Where am I exactly?”

_“North America Atlantic Ocean. Co-ETA: 47 minutes at full speed ahead.”_

He banked to the left, “Hit it, J.”

His repulsors roared loudly as he hit past the sound of barrier, streaking fast as he could across the skies and followed the trajectory lines JARVIS had put on for him. The night sky didn’t allow much for visibility across the ocean but minutes later, the tiny lights from the continent appeared, beckoning him. The city of Belém glowed under him like tiny diamonds until he hit the jungle mountain, nearly plunging back in the darkness.

_“Comms is up but nobody’s answering.”_

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate.” Tony muttered. “Any life signs?”

_“Not at the moment.”_

Another city’s light glowed in the horizon, hitting the borders of Bolivia between Paraguay, nearing to Argentina, the glimmering light going blur as Iron Man hit maximum speed, watching his destination come closer through his HUD.

For what it felt longest time, Tony sighted an orange glow that stood out from the cities’ lights. He lowered until he could see the vein of the streets under him, veering into curve toward the distant orange peck on the horizon. He fell into a strange quietness as the orange glow grew brighter and the metropolis him fading behind him, becoming more remote. He lowered even further until it was apparent the orange glow was a fire burning on buildings.

It was a landscape of total devastation. Half of the facility was smoldering, revealing broken and collapsed structure. Field of jet fighter planes on tarmac was completely obliterated and hardly recognizable; a skeleton of metal husk burning itself to extinction. Ashes swirled around the gust, filling the entire place in thick, heavy grayness.

“Jesus.” Tony uttered, circling above, looking for enemies but there was no soul in sight. Not even bodies. “What happened here?”

_“Unknown. No life signs yet.”_

He descended to the tarmac, his boots landing on the pavement, gazing around through the cloud of smoke, noting spent bullets casings littered across the ground around him. Too many to count them. “It doesn’t look anyone survived it.” 

A life signature popped in his HUD and Tony turned just in time to find a shadow appear through the smoke like a formless ghost.

“Don’t move!” Tony ordered at the shadow, lifting his gauntlet palms, hearing the whine of his repulsors harnessing its power, waiting to be unleashed.

If the shadow heard him, it didn’t listen. It grew more solid the closer it came, forming into a shape of a human figure. Strangely, the figure looked familiar, the way it moved indicated it was male and it niggled at Tony until finally, a man emerged from the gloom.

He felt as if someone had yanked his arc reactor out his chest and he couldn’t breathe.

“Yasha?”

But Tony couldn’t see Yasha anymore. What he saw a solider before him, flat eyes, painted with war paint, cold and calculating. It was the eyes that toppled regime, destroyed powerful people and laid waste to anything with a single whisper of an order.

Something was lying flat on Yasha’s shoulder, gripped under his metal hand as he approached closer with confident walk and Tony had this sudden abrupt sense of wrong. His instinct proved him right as his HUD pinged t as weapon, bringing it the blueprint of it forefront. He quickly recognized it. The one that hit him back in the Malibu, powering down his Iron Man armor and left him defenseless. 

Yasha hefted the rocket launcher properly and aimed directly at Tony.

“ _Sir?”_ JARVIS stated the understatement with an alarm, “ _Code: green.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was pretty hard. I almost didn't go through it but here it is.
> 
> *eyes flick nervously* Um, sorry?


	9. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A really short chapter!

If Tony Stark had time, he would berated on himself for letting his guard down, angry at himself that he trusted a man—the very same man who killed his parents, which granted, it was under orders but still. Tony _trusted_ him. If he had more time, he would’ve fought against the heavy sensation of betrayal, by this man who didn’t understand—couldn’t comprehend—what Tony was trying to do. What could a solider know of Tony, who was trying the best with the tools at his hands? Yasha had no right to judge him. Yasha had no right to go straight for jugular beforehand without asking him why.

But there was no time to think, much less to feel except to watch as Yasha’s shinny finger press the trigger of the rocket launcher and everything seemed to stop just for a moment there. Tony knew rationally that it was his adrenaline ramped up his brain, forcing his eyes catching more details than actually seeing everything in slow motion but it never stopped Tony feeling as if the clock itself had moved in snail pace, watching the barrel of the rocket launcher glow as the EMP projectile burst out from within with a gust of a smoke, tunneling lazily through the air, spinning languidly as it advanced toward him, just as Tony let the beam of the repulsor from his palms fly.

Time seemed to resume its natural order when the two flying objects met in the midair, crashing with a deafening sound. Suddenly, everything flashed white—so white that it cast the entire surrounding into photographic negative, the collapsed ruins and skeletons of jet fighter planes became all black, featureless shapes around sheet of light and it happened for few seconds. But even in that few seconds, Tony glimpsed something moving in the light. It moved and ran, soaring through the air. Emerging through the brilliance, Yasha emerged like an avenging fallen angel, his cybernetic fist raised high.

The punch hit solidly against the arc reactor, sending Tony skidding across the tarmac and saw Yasha lunge toward him but this time, Tony was prepared. He fired repulsor and Yasha twisted enough to avoid being hit. Tony fired again and Yasha dove into the cover of a crumbling jet fighter plane only to emerge to the other side with assault rifle.

Tony shot upward to avoid the hail of bullets and that was when he realized he fell into a trap.

When he’d arrived, Tony didn’t notice the autonomous air defenses system, having assumed they had been destroyed like the others but his HUD pinged them, clearly coming out from their hiding spot. Under him, he could see few of them flare like a dotted stars.

_“Sir!”_ JARVIS warned as missiles blazed upward, trailing with their tail of smokes as they streaked toward him. Tony saw two missiles, six, thirteen . . .  _shit_. No. It was forty of them—Tony thought sickly—forty at least—and all of them were converging toward _him_.

Tony rose in evasive spirals. The missiles wrenched themselves into pursuit maneuver that would’ve killed anyone. But Tony wasn’t anyone. He was fucking _Iron Man_ , and he wasn’t about to be defeated by missiles, no matter how many of them followed him. He rolled in advanced aerobatic that sent the missiles streaking head-on against one of them, exploding in blossom of flame.

The force of the explosion rocked Tony as he fought to stabilize his armor while JARVIS compensated it, barely keeping himself out tumble that would smeared across one of those missiles. Before he could straighten out, his HUD chimed again.

“Not helping, J.” Tony muttered, dodging furiously, “You know, when I asked for code green, I expected something like—I dunno— _yesterday_?”

_“Forgive me for not having clear parameters you set up about built up rage stemming from past trauma, constituting an attack on others or you which I estimated the probability—the very same probability I pointed out to you in—to quote: I dunno—past weeks?”_ JARVIS snarked back.

He recalled the conversation but the percentage was so low that he didn’t take it seriously but in hindsight, Tony should have, “Fair enough.” Tony conceded, juking madly, “How about them flares?”

_“I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re far too close and you’ll be caught inside the epicenter rather than outside.”_ JARVIS calculated calmly.

Ahead him he could see about six or seven missiles rerouting directly to his front and Tony glanced behind him. Yep, dozen of them were still behind him, those little bastards.

His eyes flicked automatically toward his display and glanced at his altitude, remembering something. “I just had an idea.” Tony said excitedly, “Let pull the prototype 006.”

_“Sir, might I remind you the 006 was doomed from the start and restarting would take long before—”_

“Doesn’t matter!” Tony could see they were nearing on them on both sides enough that he could even see the details of the weapon. He saw the aerodynamic design, the color of it, even the goddamned wings and realized it was one of his patents, M12-04 Howling. The engineer part of him screamed with delight to see his design doing so brilliantly but the other part of him—the survival one—railed against being wiped out by his own weapon. “Kill it!”

He felt his armor immediately shut down, his HUD display flickering out. Next thing Tony knew he was plunging back to the earth just in time to admire the missiles crashing above him in spectacular fashion, cloud of fire roaring to life, lighting the sky for miles as if it was a day. The shock wave of the inferno swatted Iron Man as if it was freight train barreling down at him, forcing him to decline further down. Tony screamed as the g-forces spun him harder, causing a sharp uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, pressure pressed down on him from every sides.

_“Power restarting in—”_

“Not yet!” Tony shouted, his ears picking up the shrieking whistle of three missiles that had escaped unscathed and was circling in the air, unable to lock onto him since he went offline. He knew he was living on borrowed time. He designed the missiles tracking algorithm to be smart enough to lock on aerial movement even with the enemies’ stealth tech and Tony was falling too fast enough to be detected. Goddamn it, why he wasn’t dealing Hammer’s tech tonight?

_“Sir, I suggest—”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know! Gimme a second!” Tony was dizzy at the spinning world with no end at sight as he tried fight down the panic when ground below him was growing steadily faster as he descended. He looked up and saw the missiles finally locked on him and were gaining.

When Tony finally glimpsed the dying fire on the tarmac below him through the slits of his faceplate, he shouted, “Now, JARVIS!”

His HUD whirred to life with rebooting images, his repulsors kicking on quickly in the nick time to avoid splatting his body like a pancake across the ground but he couldn’t stop his chest plate scrapping on the tarmac with a blinding sparks as he skidded up. Behind him, two of the missiles couldn’t reroute in time and it crashed the tarmac, immolating itself in fire and luckily enough, Tony was far away to be caught in shock wave.

He didn’t look back—didn’t have to. The loud whistle was a clue enough that one was still hot and closing.

Tony ducked into the ruins of the planes, weaving through it and he twisted his head to see the missile was getting closer and closer on him. He shifted his eyes forward and yelped when he saw he was on the way to collide the jet plane fighter’s burning wing. He banked sharply, ducking underneath, feeling the heat press even through the armor for a moment there while the missile sailed overhead.

Something caught his eyes, something shiny. Across about two-hundred meters yard ahead was Yasha, standing in the middle of the tarmac and for the first time Tony felt something other than fear, other than betrayal. Fury seethed into his veins and it was familiar, like an old friend embracing him and he relished onto the feeling.

There was hell to pay.

*****

The roar of Iron Man’s repulsor filled Yasha’s ears. He whipped around to catch the familiar gold and red armor streak, bright even in night sky, surprised that he was alive after watching the colossal explosion that lit the sky like fireworks.

Yasha debated on himself whether to stay and fight or flee but one glimpse of the missile hightailing behind Iron Man, he picked the latter. So he did the only thing he could do. He turned and bolted.

He ran toward the facility as fast he could. He ducked under the ruins, sometimes leaping over the fallen debris, ignoring the roar of the repulsor and the high pitch of the missiles getting louder and louder. Yasha pumped his legs harder and he wanted nothing more than to get away from Iron Man. Not far from him, he saw a door and lunged toward it but something hard and red swooped, grabbing him around the midsection. Before Yasha could register he was being propelled forward in midair—

—only to realize they were crashing through the door, splintering it apart as they flew inside while the missiles crashed against the wall. The explosion thundered so loudly and the force that followed came so powerful that it flung Iron Man and Yasha further to the end of the room. Yasha felt the ground quaking, the fire roaring through the window and door, his ears ringing as the hailstorms of debris rained upon them and he couldn’t help feel pulse quicken at the idea that any moment the entire floor would fall on them.

Just as soon he had that thought, the wall across them began to collapse, crushing apart from its weight as the ceiling buckled and collapsed without the support four feet not far from them but Yasha was already rolling and tumbling to his feet. So was Iron Man, ducking in time as his cybernetic fist hit the floor next to him that was meant for his head.  

He saw something gleam on Iron Man’s hand and Yasha forced himself to fall on his back just in time to see the white-blue energy fly past his face, feeling the heat wave on his skin.

Repulsors.

That won’t do, Yasha thought, quickly pulling the flat circular object from his pouch before he arched his back and flipped himself to his feet only to spring sideways to dodge another repulsor beam attack. He pressed the button of the object and flicked it across the air. He saw it latch on Iron Man’s chest plate, just below the arc reactor.

Suddenly, Iron Man’s glowing eyes and the palm that was currently aimed at Yasha flickered down to complete shut, causing the armor to slump against the wall, motionless and Yasha smiled darkly. Finally, he had that son of bitch where he wanted: powerless and soon to be dead.

Then that moment was broken when the eyes slits flashed blue and the next thing, Yasha’s world spun. Yasha, who had been standing up, his arm raised up to strike the final blow that would crushed his faceplate to the skull, was flung to the collapsed rubble, knocking the wind out him.  

“Your EMP tricks won’t work anymore.” Iron Man’s modulated voice was smug, “I learned my lesson first time around.”

Iron Man bounded after him and Yasha rolled in the nick time before his armored elbow could do real damage, the impact turning the rubble into dust. Yasha pulled a knife to dig from his boot to slam on Iron Man’s wrist but it merely scratched the titanium. Iron Man set the repulsor on him and Yasha twisted enough for the beam graze his shoulder.

“Aren’t we going to talk?” Iron Man asked, aiming again, “Because I think this merits a conversation.”

“We talked enough, you hydra scum.” Yasha snarled, lunging Iron Man before he could fire.

They crashed against the wall and Yasha heaved him forward and then slammed him again against the wall, this time cracking the concrete, casting a hazy pall over the room, “Hey! Hold on!” Iron Man shouted, “I might be one of those _scums_ but I wasn’t the one—” A stab reeled him but the armor absorbed the blow and he had to twist his head to dodge another blow that would dug the blade into his eye slit. “—I wasn’t the one who wiped your mind or kept you as prisoner!” With desperation, Iron Man grabbed Yasha’s neck and pulled him forward as hard he could, forcing him to head-butt with his faceplate. It didn’t hurt Yasha badly but reeled him enough to release Iron Man, forcing him back.

“If you do recall, I gave you a choice!” He let the repulsor blast fly, sending the blade skittering in the air, “You could’ve walked away—you still can!”

Another blast, Yasha instinctively dropped and rolled to duck it, nearly crashing the metal door. “Some choice!” He spat, grabbing the handle and yanked it _hard_ , tearing the door off the hinges, startling Iron Man at the ferocity behind the force. “How I can walk away when Hydra still stands?”

With a snarling shout, he charged with the door forward, slamming against Iron Man with the strength of a car and he didn’t stop there. He kept moving, kept shoving no matter how much Iron Man dug his boots into the floor, throwing spark in all directions. Yasha kept pushing until the momentum sent both of them crashing through the no-longer reinforced concrete wall to another room. Iron Man skidded across the floor on his back and he desperately moved to stand but one hit from the door shoved him back to the ground.

The rage that had been building for days, fury at the mental, physical torture at Hydra’s hands and the rush of the battle all surged to the surface. Screaming, Yasha raised the door as a shield and swung down with every fiber of his being.

With each blow, the form before him took every men or women that wiped out Bucky Barnes completely to replace a shell of ghost of a man and he slammed those faces down, erasing it from existence. The coat lab uniform faded into finery suits of higher commands and then finally into the face of Zola. Hate consumed him from remote corner, like infected pus from a wound that never healed quite right and had been festering for too long until it was finally lanced and bled out.

A flash of repulsor sent the half-crumped door flying in the air, startling him. Yasha didn’t have to look behind him to see where the door had crashed. Instead, he lowered his hands slowly to his sides, staring down dispassionately like a man facing a firing squad, prepared to meet his maker. He thought distantly: _that’s how I die, then._

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel sad at the prospect. Just calm and relieved that this was over. Yasha had made his last stand and did his best. It wasn't enough but he was proud he’d gone down fighting with piece of him he had just gotten back intact, leaving his mark on his brief moment in earth despite it didn't change anything in grand schemes of things. Most importantly, they couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Yasha didn’t know how long he stood frozen, waiting. The white-blue glow burning into his retina like afterimage and he was aware of the hum of the repulsor and his harsh breathing punctuating in the silence. Then Iron Man did something the very last thing he expected him to do.

He lowered his gauntlets.

“If you want kill me, you’re gonna do it right. Not with that makeshift-shield.” Iron Man said, collapsing entirely on his back, like he was giving up, “Use your hands.”

He blinked, feeling like he had snapped out from a long lasting stupor but Yasha couldn’t understand. “What. . .”

“Do it.”

“Do it?” He echoed, unable to grasp the meaning behind it because it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why Iron Man wasn’t fighting back?

Yasha grabbed his shoulders as if to snap him out, as if he could force Iron Man to fight back but he paused, taking note for the first time the faceplate was scratched and dented beyond recognition. One of the eyes slit was cracked and unlit and he didn’t dare to look past his neck where he knew a greater damage lay beyond. Instead he tried to focus on that rage but even that was hard to hold on. Somehow this fight, this last stand, whatever this was didn’t feel much like a victory. 

"You're murderer." Yasha growled, but he knew that was more for himself than to Iron Man. He shook him like a rag doll, back and forth, back and forth so hard that his armor protested. Raw hurt brimmed in his eyes. "Don't you understand—I hate you. I _hate_ you!"

Iron Man made no move to stop him except to clutch Yasha’s fingers on his shoulders, "I know."

Yasha let out a rattled gasp. That was the problem; there was no hate in him, not anymore. That why he was so angry, so lost. He couldn’t understand.

"No!" He shouted in denial, tears falling down freely on his cheek, "You’re Hydra . . .   _why?_ Why them?”

"I’m sorry." It came out as whisper.

"Why? Why? They took all I had. . . "

"I’m sorry."

" _Why_?"

Iron Man drew his arms around the man's shoulders and the death grip on his shoulder loosened, Yasha's hands going limp. There were no words for ‘why’, no explanation to make everything right, so Iron Man said nothing.

Yasha body began shake in his embrace. As the tears began to spill, Iron Man knew the weight of what he had been holding back, not just now, perhaps longer, decades even, relinquishing to what had been held in for so long. He wept over the half remembered war, the loss of his self, the torture he endured, the people he killed.

His sob echoed across the ruins and Iron Man held him hard enough to keep Yasha together rather than let him break apart for good.


	10. A reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heart to heart talk. Lot tears. Angst. The usual.

They drove in an old, stolen pickup truck in silence, watching the countryside roll by under the darkness, the unpaved road stretching ahead, forever outrunning the headlights.

Tony felt naked without his armor despite wearing t-shirt and jean. He glanced at the rear-view mirror for his disassembled armor parts inside the back of the open trunk. He felt naked without it. Tony knew he would’ve been safer inside it now with that the ticking bomb sitting next to him. However, it wouldn’t be practical driving with it, not with the weight bearing down on the driver’s side if he had worn and he couldn’t leave Yasha behind despite everything.

Yasha was sitting listlessly, his head resting on the window, hands on his lap, still as statue. Through the concrete dust, war paint and soot splattered across his face and hair, Tony could make his expression and grimaced. He was reminded an old photography he had stumbled upon on gallery, one that featured a solider sitting in a war-torn place, staring straight a camera and it was titled, _‘A thousand-yard stare’_. Now as he looked glanced sideways at Yasha, he thought it was aptly named.

He wished he could erase everything, to moment where he had taken the mantle of a leader over an evil organization up to the time where Hydra had laid their slimy hands on Yasha. For a slight insane moment, Tony wondered if time machines, wormholes might be put in practice but he considered the whole idea completely insane and moot.

He was so lost in thought that Yasha’s voice startled him.

“What now?”

His fingers gripped hard at the wheels, causing the leather emit a creaking sound under him. Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to loosen his fingers and focused on the road while he tried to think the appropriate response but his mind came blank.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you put me in the Chair?”

Tony snapped his head to stare at Yasha with dismay, “No!” He barked loudly, causing him to wince. He gathered himself before speaking in normal tone, “No.” It wasn’t better, coming off strained and he tried again, “As long I’m alive and capable to make decision, you will never be in that Chair again. Do you hear me?”

Yasha didn’t look at him but at least he answered with a dull: “Yes.”

Fuck it, he hated this. Hated that look in Yasha’s eyes. Hated the feeling of helplessness. Hated he was doubting about everything, even from himself.

Frustrated, Tony pulled the truck off the road and into the field. The tall grass thumped on the truck’s sides and hood but he didn’t stop until he reached near the treelines and turned the engine off, plunging around them into near-complete darkness without the gleam of the headlight.

For a while they sat in the dark, listening at the crickets and the bird chirp somewhere distant until Tony couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I really don’t know what I’m doing.” Tony blurted the first thing that came to his mind. “This.” He pointed the space between them but Yasha’s gaze wasn’t on Tony but he wasn’t about to be deterred, “Hydra. Being _the_ boss. Managing everything. The only thing I know for sure is when I’m Iron Man. The rest of it? I’m just winging it.”

Somehow, that thousand-yard stare look was slowly oozing away from Yasha’s eyes, to be replaced by a—curiosity? Confusion? He wasn’t sure.

“The thing is: this happened to me recently. The boss stuff, I mean—not joining Hydra.” Tony paused, frowning, “Actually, I’m not sure when I did join—was it long ago?” He said more to himself than to Yasha. “It’s not clear to me but at some point, they messed up my mind. For what, I’m not sure. Did I betray them or it was the other way around? Was a punishment? Lack of trust? Did they need something from me that I refused to do in first place? I don’t know.” He shook his head, “They fucked up. That’s the only thing I’m certain of it. And when I found out . . . I snapped.”

Finally, Yasha lifted his forehead from the window, turned to look at him. This time, Tony could tell it was curiosity.

“I won’t deny that I went insane for a moment there.” He confessed with an embarrassed shrug, “I blew their covers—not all of them but enough to have them running for their lives. I destroyed half of their operation bases and bullied them to obedience.” He rubbed his mouth with his hand, tracing the chapped skin, “Of course, not everyone was happy about it.”

An understanding crept to Yasha’s expression, “Is that why they hunted you?”

Tony nodded, grateful to have his response. “Yeah. You saved me.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “Thanks, by the way.”

Yasha frowned and dropped his eyes on the metal arm which Tony noticed it was filled with scratches and tiny dents. The man remained silent but Tony could tell he was ruminating something.

“When I realized, I didn’t understand at first—what you are.” Yasha spoke slowly, clearly testing his words aloud, “Going after the traitors after the attack of your home didn’t help matters because the lines didn’t seem clear but when I started to—” He stopped before looking away, his face pained.

“—remember.” Tony finished for him. “Right?”

“Yes but not much” He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes. “Just enough to understand what they did to me.”

Tony’s stomach fell and he had to swallow, something quiet and guilty.

Something hardened in Yasha’s eyes, “Be honest. Did you do something to me?” Yasha gestured with the bionic appendage. “I don’t remember if you did—”

“No.” Tony interrupted quickly, feeling sick at the image of him digging scalpel on Yasha’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t. Not in a million—” A memory flashed, cutting his sentence off. He remembered the gruesome experiments he participated before, making people into something they never wanted to be in first place. Tearing their consciences away until nothing of their old self remained, making them monsters. Monsters that killed. Not unlike Yasha.

Suddenly, Tony didn’t know what to believe or think.

Yasha regarded him for a while, “I wish I could believe you.”

“Then don’t.” He said slowly, uncertain, “I meant what I said—back then. You can leave.” Something heavy caught his throat and he had to clear his throat, “No hard feelings.”

Yasha tensed, wearing a strange fearful expression on his face, his breathing growing louder and louder. Alarmed, Tony thought Yasha was having panic attack until Yasha yanked the door open and left.

Tony stared at the empty space and wondered if he’d said something wrong.

He opened the door and got out the truck, ignoring as his one of his knees protested in pain and waded through the high-waist grass to the direction where he saw Yasha went to but after few minutes looking, he realized the grass ahead him didn’t show any disturbance. There was no sign of a living had passed by recently, no trampled vegetation, no footsteps or any kind and Tony was creeped out.

It was as if he was following a ghost.

Luckily, that ghost spoke up, “You know what the worst part is?”

The voice sounded it came everywhere and nowhere and Tony spun around, heart thudding against his chest. He had the strangest feeling come over him, as if he was being watched through a sniper’s scope, which might be not far off the mark considering of the entire fiasco tonight. “What?”

“I want to stay.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. He felt as if as he had swallowed the whole sun, warming deep to his soul, nearly rendering him undone. He knew Yasha didn’t mean as compliment—not with that regret woven in the tone—all the same, Tony took as one.

“Then stay.” If it came out desperate, Tony didn’t care. He wanted him to stay.

“I-I can’t.” The voice sounded broken, as if spoken through clenched teeth, speaking so softly that Tony didn’t almost hear it: “No more. I can’t.” A harsh breathing, “No more.”

Tony looked at the darkness, speechless.

“I’m not meant for this.” Yasha’s voice continued, “I don’t belong on this . . . period. I think I was supposed to die. On the train—when I fell. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Tony blurted out and he had to dig his nails under his palms force himself not to overreact, “I’m sorry of everything you went through after the fall but I’m not sorry you’re alive. In fact, I’m damn grateful you’re here.”

“Why?” He asked, “I set out to kill you tonight. Seeing that, shouldn’t be the other way around? Why you’re not angry or afraid of me?”

It was a good question and he had to consider it for a moment “Beats me. Pepper says I don’t process emotions in the normal way and besides, you didn’t kill me. You stopped.”

“I couldn’t do it.” A shaky breath. “I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself.”

Tony looked at the grass with troubled frown, “If you killed me, then . . . I’m glad. As selfish or morbid to say but at least that way, I’ll be remembered.” He paused for a beat, “And the guilt, you know, it is good thing.”

It wasn’t clear to Tony but he guessed Yasha was shocked the long silence that followed but before he could respond, Tony started speaking again.

“Conscience is not bad. Sure, it is complete downer with that set of nightmares, sleepless nights, paranoia and guilt that comes with but it does mean you’re not inherently evil. It doesn’t even make you a bad person.”

“Nor it does make me a good person.”

“I could say it is all relative but it wouldn’t be true, wouldn’t it? But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Think about it. What could be worse than this?”

Somewhere nearby, Yasha snorted and Tony could pinpoint the sound. He cocked his head toward the treelines and strained to listen but he couldn’t hear anything but the rustle of the grass around him and the soft whistle of a breeze.

“I don’t think there’s anything worse than this.”

“Feeling not guilty. That’s worse.” Tony approached closer to one particular tree and saw the recognizable shape in the shadow high above. “Killing people without single shred of guilt. Not able to remember their faces after the deed because they’re just passing things, faceless jobs. No more nightmares. No ghosts to haunt you to still your finger on the trigger, to whisper your ears, ‘no more’.” Tony couldn’t see the man’s face but he could sense Yasha’s eyes on him, “It’s far worse. Trust me.”

The starlight flowed through the leaves cast a lacework of shadows over Yasha’s shoulder, blurring his image until he seemed to become part of the surrounding. Then he moved slightly, enough for his icy blue eyes appear in the gloom, looking down at Tony.  

“Is that how you feel? Or the lack of it?” 

Tony blinked, his features changing from knowing to surprised and then into quiet neutrality. “Sometimes.” He conceded, “At first, I used to think that I was doing this because it was the right thing to do and I was the lesser evil out of them but that could be said to the others who thought the same. But I knew it wasn’t true because it’s should’ve been the hardest decision to make. It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s not supposed to be done without guilt, without something at stake.”

“And how you do know when to stop?”

“That’s the thing: I don’t.” He answered without hesitation, sounding as he found Yasha ridiculous for asking such question, giving him a confused glance. Evidently, Tony thought it had been obvious.

Silence that came after was telling and Tony didn’t have any idea what else to say anything else, feeling drained and weary.

A thump startled from his thoughts and he found Yasha crouching before him to soften his fall and then he stretched to his height. There was something on his face, a hint of almost wonder, as if he hadn’t expected Tony to admit, touched something almost like an understanding.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Tony parroted blankly, “Okay as in . . .”

“Okay as to gimme a reason to stay.” He crossed his arms on his chest, “And it’d better be a good one, none of those frou-frou shits of your shiny gadgets back at home. That includes JARVIS.”

Tony gave a mocking gasp, “JARVIS isn’t frou-frou shit and he would be offended to be referred as such.”

“I would’ve agreed with you there, after all, I like JARVIS but he spoils you far too much.”

“He should. I put that on his programming.”

Yasha shook his head, “You just made my point. JARVIS will look over your best interests, not mine. One reason is all I need. A _real_ one. None those: ‘it’s my choice’ or ‘you can leave’ excuses. I want to know why you want me to stay.”

“Just one?” He considered it, thoughtful. An idea took hold on him and his eyes softened a little, the tension in his shoulders drawing away, “I think I got one.”

*****

Tony seemed strangely subdued as they reached to one of those safe-houses stood in a small town called San Pedro, a few miles outside of Salar de Atacama.

With the sun bearing down on them, Yasha couldn’t safely say what the hideout was intended to be in first place. It was a mesh of an office building/house on the top of the deserted hill and it was completely eyesore, painted with bright green walls and sharp lines. It looked far too modern in the middle of the desert town, next to the run-down brick houses with straw roofs around them.

“I thought the point of hideout was supposed . . . I don’t know—hidden in plain sight?”

Tony snorted, “Have you met me?”

Yasha blinked, suddenly reminded the bright holographic images that covered every inch of the workplace, all showy and animated, the sweeping concrete of Malibu with majestic views, the cavernous spaces of the Stark Manor with tall pillars and ornate windows and he had to give Tony grudging look.

“Funny thing is: I didn’t design this. It belonged to someone and now it’s mine.” Tony swung the fence open, staring up at the house with a fond look, “I like it here.”

Tony fell into silence, not in talkive mood as they walked to the path, didn’t look back to double-check to see if Yasha was okay and Yasha was truly glad for it. He was all talked out, completely exhausted and dirty. Concrete dusts and rocks particles seemed to dig on his skin and clothes. Yasha knew without looking mirror, there were many cuts and scrapes scattered on his exposed skin and he was sporting bruises all over, the worst was his back and his left, after being hauled through the concrete wall. His robotic arm didn’t seem to be working like before, lagging on few second later but he couldn’t complain because the man next to Yasha wasn't faring better. Tony’s face was nearly unrecognizable. While his armor provided protection, some parts didn’t bear the burnt that well after being shot by missiles, bloody beaten down and as result his right jaw was bruised, one eye swollen, lower lip split, cuts on his cheeks and forehead and a trickle of blood from his brow ran down to his face. His arms bore the worst burnt, makeshift bandages wrapped all over it but blood still steeped through the fabric. There was a limp on his left leg but not too bad to make him wince every step.

They looked horrible. It was lucky that no one had encountered them.

Tony shut the door behind him, hesitating for a moment, unsure how to act. His intelligent brown eyes were watching Yasha with disturbing severity and it made him uncomfortable. That expression shouldn’t be there, on Tony’s face. Yasha thought Tony should be laughing, teeth flashing white, eyes twinkling with crinkles on his little crowfeet.

“I know we need to put our talk on shelf for a long shower, lick our wounds and have good-night sleep but I’m afraid once I close my eyes, you won’t be here.”

He wasn’t wrong, Yasha had contemplated those thoughts. Still was.

“So the talk.”  Tony sounded very much like he was dragging himself to the fiery pit of hell, san shoes, “Let do it.”

Yasha cocked his eyebrow, waiting.

Tony immediately wilted, “Okay.” He said lamely, “The reason, right?”

Yasha nodded.

“So—well, I would like you to—no, I think I should start with—” He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly but there was a cut there, causing him to wince as he touched it, “Scratch that. Not the point I’m making.”

“Just spit out.”

A quiet huff escaped from Tony’s lip, “This is not easy.” He told him, “But then some things that are worth aren’t easy.”

Yasha frowned because he never considered Tony thought like this, like he was something to be valued but that couldn’t be right? He must’ve heard it wrong.

“I want you to stay because I look at you and everything makes sense.” Tony licked his dry lips, nervous, “The world makes sense ever since they . . . screwed my brain. The sky is in the right shade of blue, I can taste food and really enjoy it, JARVIS’s voice is just the exact modulation the way it sounded before and the rage I used to feel is still there—but it doesn’t take the whole space and it’s receding. I used to worry I couldn’t be able to feel anything but anger and you just proved me wrong.”

Yasha was certain his heart had stopped beating, that his mind was scrambling for anything, and his stomach was full of lead, heavy and there.

From his deer-in-headlight expression, Tony made a sound, like a snort but not quite, “It’s not like that.” He gave a small smile but it was shaky, “Like Pepper, you know. Could be, if I let myself and I just know it would be the easiest thing to do it. But no. It’s not like that. You just make sense.”

Tony took one step closer, “But that’s just seeing you. Talking to you is easy. Going missions and fighting with you at my side, even better. The rush, the fear, the fun, everything. And getting to know you even just a little bit?” He shook his head, laughing breathlessly, “There’s no words.”

Yasha chest felt so small, tight and big at the same time and too much it might burst open or crumple inside.

“So, there you have it. My reasons.” He shoved his hand into his pocket in nonchalant fashion but Yasha could see through it, “This is why I want you to stay but only if you want to.”

“You know I do.” It suddenly came out.

There was a light behind Tony’s eyes but Yasha didn’t realize it existed until it was gone. Then Tony nodded, his voice flat. “Yeah.” He looked around but Yasha, “I guess that should count for something.” He flicked his eyes upstairs and pulled his hand out to thumb at the direction, “Your room is up to your left, first door you see. There’s bathroom from three doors down. Towels and basic necessities should be there. Let me know if you want something.” He inched away from Yasha, “I don’t know about you but feel showering.”

Tony turned on his heel, toward the stairs and it was then Yasha realized what he had said might be construed differently.

“Tony.” He called out after his retreating form and saw him stop halfway. “I didn’t mean as . . .” He struggled for a right word, “It’s not goodbye.”

He turned, puzzled, “It also doesn’t mean you’re staying.”

“Just. . .” He blew a breath, damn it. Why this was hard? “I don’t know.”

Tony gave nothing away in the way he stared at Yasha. Just blank stare and a nod before he turned around and climbed the stairs.

Somehow, watching Tony depart left Yasha feeling bereft.

*****

The sound of crickets and animals howling in the distance woke Tony up. He blinked fuzzily, trying to get his bearing. In a strange bed, concrete, wooden furniture.

Oh. Everything flooded back into his sleepy memory. The trap, fighting, tall grasses, Yasha up the tree. San Pedro.

Tony rolled for a more comfortable position but as soon he moved, he let out a groan, suddenly feeling absolute shit. With a great effort, Tony sat up, mindful of his bruises and cuts. He brought up a shaky hand and laid on his knee, fuck, it hurt in there too.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since he had flown to North Korea and he felt thirsty too. He released a huge sigh and stood up very carefully, limping to the bathroom.

One cold splash of water over his face and brushing his teeth, Tony felt marginally more human but he winced at the sight of his reflection on his mirror. His swollen eye had receded but it had taken in purplish shade. Butterflies bandages were slapped on the minor cuts but the scrapes, he left it alone.

Back to his bedroom, Tony didn’t bother to dress up, opting to stay on his boxer and he debated whether to put shirt on. He figured it was too much trouble for his bandaged arms, but he didn’t want walk with his arc reactor open for everyone to see even though he showed off sometimes. His scars, though. . .  that was a line he wasn't ready to cross yet. So he grabbed a yesterday shirt on the floor despite it was dirty and put it on.  He eyed the door, the dread on his stomach still lingered. He didn’t feel ready to step out the room but he had to _know_ , so he forced himself to take a deep breath before opening the door to step outside and into the hallway.

Immediately, he knew Yasha wasn’t in his room. For one, the door that led Yasha’s room was ajar and Tony could see through the gap that the bed hadn’t been slept on, the blankets untouched. By the time Tony looked away, the constricting feeling in his chest had faded but his heart still pounded through his ears, even he forced himself to keep walking.

He descended the stairs, wincing every step he took and turned to his head to look at the rooms as he went, finding them empty.

“Yasha?”

There was no answer and his heart plunged. He moved to the kitchen.

Vacant and untouched. Everything looked exactly the same they arrived, and suddenly Tony felt dizzy.

So, Yasha left.

Tony had to sit down, eyes dull, no longer hungry.

He didn’t know how much time passed. Only when the night had faded and the kitchen brightened when the sunlight filtered through the pink clouds outside the window, did Tony realize the night had come and gone.

And he still sat.

A sound of a door creaking alerted Tony. He looked up and whipped around, stunned, “Yasha?”

The said man had foregone his tactical gear, going for a shirt with long sleeves and jean suitable for warmer climates but even with that, he still wore gloves, holding two papers bag with his arms, filled with groceries. Yasha looked better than yesterday, some of the bruises had mottled into faint yellow that was barely there and the cuts had closed up nicely.

“You’re here.”

A realization dawned on Yasha’s face and he stared at Tony, his voice oddly gentle, “So am I.”

Tony could barely speak, not with the lump on his throat. “Yeah.” He stood up, already moving toward the coffeemaker, “Um, do you want coffee?”

Yasha set the groceries on the table, “Sure.” He unloaded food from the bag, “I’m mood for omelet. Want one?”

Tony felt a hysterical laughter bubbling from his chest but he stifled the urge, opting for a real smile instead, “Throw in a toast and bacon, and then you got a deal.”

******

A loud clatter echoed in the living room and two figures seated on the opposite of each other, one was watching attentively and other was fiddling with tools. On the background, the T.V. was on with news flashing over the screen.

“Is that how you do it?” Tony frowned worriedly at Yasha, staring in curious horror as the assassin lifted one metal plate with careless fashion, revealing nothing but intricate mechanics, complicated wires and circuits within. Tony salivated the beauty of the technology, it’s was poetry itself, watching the plates shift and flow seamlessly into one piece but he felt guilty immediately for thinking this way.  _He had real arm before, all bone, skin and blood,_ Tony reminded himself as he tapped his arc reactor with his finger.

Yasha answer’s was a responding affirmative grunt, screwdriver between his teeth.

“I know its ridiculous question but I’m all for stupid as stupid does. Sooo _o_ . . .  doesn’t hurt?” He gestured the white scaring around the shoulder where metal joined to the flesh. Also, sheen of sweat was already covered all over his skin and Yasha looked paler than before which Tony didn’t know it was possible. After all, the man looked like vampire.

Yasha grabbed the screwdriver from his mouth to respond, “Some.”

“Well, it shouldn’t hurt if you do it gently.” Tony’s hands itched to touch it.

Yasha shrugged as he shifted the wires aside to look inside, “It is how I learned from watching them work on this if they didn’t put me under. What I learned, I applied. I had to work it quickly and finish it during missions, regardless of the pain.”

It took Tony to understand what Yasha was telling about them. Hydra. It was the most detailed picture of what they did to him but to hear such a complete lack of emotion in Yasha’s voice was disturbing.

“It’s different now.” Tony pointed out, “You don’t have to be in pain if it can be avoided.”

Yasha shrugged, “I don’t know how. Besides, I’m used to the pain.”

Tony was silent for a while, unable to speak through the heartbreaking pity swelling inside him. He waited until the overwhelming feeling faded away, knowing all too well that pity was the last thing Yasha wanted. After mulling it for a bit, Tony asked, “Can I show you?”

The assassin stilled, gripping the screwdriver as if it was a weapon, looking acutely uncomfortable, shifting uneasily.

Tony eyed the gleaming tool in Yasha’s fist and leaned his back to the chair, “I mean, I don’t have to touch you or anything like that but I can direct you just by pointing few things until you get the hang of it.”

The obvious tension seeped from Yasha’s features, his eyes unreadable as ever, the only discernible emotion in his blue depth hinted something that Tony couldn’t put his finger on.

“It stings here.” He pointed on his wrist, indicating some specific wires and Tony felt bit awed to be trusted for this. Regardless, the conversation was too serious for Tony's taste.

“Before I’ll say what’s wrong with it, I might ask another stupid question.”

Yasha made ‘go ahead’ gesture.

“Have you polished the knob with this hand?” Tony asked with complete seriousness.

For a moment, the phrase didn’t make sense to Yasha but an understanding came to him and his face cleared up, “Do you mean—”

“Uh-huh.”

He stared at Tony with wide eyes, “Did you seriously just—”

“I know.”

“Does your lechery knows no—”

“None at all.”

There was a second of stunned silence, but then, Tony’s lips twitched and Yasha quickly saw it. Then both men exploded in laughter. Tony keeled over, clutching his stomach and Yasha nearly slid off the chair and he had to grip it for stability.

“Your face!”  Tony struggled to say between laughter, “Oh your face!”

“Polished. The knob!” Yasha howled, “Now that’s something I haven’t heard in long time.”

“You should’ve seen your face,” Tony nearly choked in his laughter, “Got you didn’t I?”

Both men slowly laughed themselves out, wheezing at the end. Tony hiccupped in tears, still chortling between pauses.

“I needed that.”

“Me too.” Tony agreed with gurgle, his body still fighting in some remaining laugher phase, “How good are you with biology?”

Yasha smile was softer, “Pretty good, why?”

“’Cause you might need for this.” Tony gestured to the open gap on his wrist, “Here, shift that wire to the there—the one that looks like median nerves near of what should be on the location the quadratus muscles. Just nudge it. Don’t push it.”

“Like this?”  He gripped the screwdriver and bent the wire to the opposite direction. “Huh.”

Yasha’s expression was astonished incredulity. 

“Pain just stopped right?” Tony surmised.

“Yeah.”

“It figures. JARVIS was right.” Tony seemed torn between dismay and impressed, “Basically, they copied the biological approach into mechanic and electrical form and connected it to your nervous system. That why you feel pain, pressure, sensation or any kind as a real arm. What you felt is called ‘pinched nerves’ although that wouldn’t be the appropriate definition since in your case is pretty freaking weird.”

“Why they would do that?”

“No idea.” Tony scratched behind his ear, clearly thoughtful, “I could ask around. Check if any of the experts are still alive or not. Have JARVIS check the file or something.”

“Ehh,” He drawled off uncertainly, his eyes turning distant, “You go ahead but I don’t tell me if you hit the jackpot.” Yasha didn’t want to find out the finer details of the arm or any relation to Hydra. He was little afraid once he looked at his file, he would never stop delving deeper and deeper. There were somethings that he didn’t remember much and he preferred to remain that way.

“Alright, but you need new parts, though. I can see some of these pieces are reaching to its nearing end. I can even hear the ‘taps’ playing for them.” Tony placed his hand over his chest in respect of them.

Yasha rolled his eyes, “Are we done for now?”

He glanced down at the bionic arm, “Not yet—”

“Hey, Isn’t that your friend?” He frowned, his attention at something over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony blinked and shifted his gaze to the direction of Yasha’s eyes and saw it was T.V.  Sure enough, it was Pepper looking lovely as ever, standing on stage in the middle on what appeared to be somewhere sunny and half cloudy with news headline on the bottom indicating her name and as CEO of Stark Industries.

He grabbed the remote control and raised the volume of the T.V.

_"First, I'm happy to announce that all damage resulting from the stark expo incident has been repaired, at the sole expense of Stark Industries.”_ She began with a proud smile, “ _Now the long historic and mutually beneficial relationship between Stark and New York can once again turn in the direction it's always faced: toward the future.”_

Behind her a skeleton of building structure could be seen, all steel frame with vertical columns, horizontal beams and reinforced bars. Even half-finished, it looked imposing already.

_“It's with great pleasure to you the plan for the structure you see going up behind me: Stark Tower. The very first completely clean-energy-powered skyscraper in Manhattan . . .  and what we hope will be a model for the future development in the greatest city in the world.”_

“How come you’re not there?” Yasha asked, looking at him.

“Two reasons. ’Cause she’s the boss and that project is her baby.” Tony side-glanced him and grinned as if it was sort of private joke, “I’ll help her, of course.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Why I do feel sorry for her as soon you said that?”

“You’re wise man, Yasha. Very wise.”

*****

A sound of screaming woke up Tony rather the animal in the wild outside the house. Startled, he sprang up, hand poised to fire a repulsor from his gauntlet but he realized he wasn’t wearing his armor. Actually, he was in boxers and in bed.

Another scream followed, coming very close, spurring Tony to his feet and scrambling toward Yasha’s room. When he entered his room, nearly shoving the door against to the wall and skidding halfway across, it was as Tony guessed.

Yasha was having one of his nightmares and it was a bad one. Spectacularly bad.

Back in the mansion, they slept two floors apart and Tony spent mostly on wee hours in his workplace than his actual bedroom, so he never had to witness his nightmares in person save from JARVIS alerting him under his orders but even then, he left JARVIS to attend Yasha to wake and care him in the aftermath.

The timing couldn’t be more horrible. For one JARVIS was indisposed, Yasha’s room was next to him so it couldn’t be ignored and looking up close in person was completely different than seeing through video feed.

Yasha was covered in sweat, limbs flailing against the confining fabric of the sheet, mouth open in wordless scream.

Heart pounding, Tony stepped a little closer, still out range from the moving limbs.

“Frosty.” He called, “It’s okay. It’s only a nightmare. Come on, wake up—”

The sheet tore apart into two by something sharp, the fabrics flying like ribbons on the wind and Tony was busy trying to piece it together to realize Yasha had a knife in his hand. He barely saw Yasha moving, a blur of black and white leaping off the bed and knocking Tony back against the dresser with a blade under his chin. There was no recognition in Yasha’s eyes, just sharp dullness that bespoke of high-strung solider but nothing of the man himself as he dug the blade until blood was drawn.

“Hey! Fuck, it’s _me!”_ Tony shouted, grabbing Yasha’s wrist, holding it before the blade could dig deeper. “Stand down!”

“отказываться от своего поста? Что мои приказы ?” It spilled out from Yasha’s voice, flat and inquiring. Shit, Russian. That wasn’t good.

“Bucky, stand down!”

The soldier froze, along with the pressure of the knife on Tony’s skin, “Say it again.”

“What?” Tony was confused, wincing as the knob of the dresser burrow on the base of his spine but he ignored in favor of the knife against his neck, “Stand down?”

“Before that.” He suddenly looked wild with his blue eyes bordering in madness and his dark hair over his face, “Say it again.”

Tony stared, eyebrows furrowed as he processed the strange demand and but he stopped struggling when he realized what he’d said, eyes widening.

“Bucky.”

Yasha could barely breathe, his lungs expanded in his chest and contracted wildly. His eyelids flickered, felt his eyes burn with the threat of tears and he clenched his teeth until it ached.

“Again.”

His eyes were very brown up this close, clear even in the darkness, “Bucky.”

Yasha was trembling, barely there, until it was everywhere, spreading through him and he choked on his sob, “That’s my name, isn’t it?”

Tony’s fingers gripped to Yasha’s wrist more tightly until he felt the pulse hammering against the skin, “You’re James Buchanan Barnes but I think you preferred to go by Bucky. It what they called you.”

The pressure of the blade eased up and Yasha’s mouth trembled. He looked as if he was about to cry which Tony was all for it except the blade was still there against his neck and Yasha seemed to be unaware of it.

“As much I would love to share this moment with you but first thing first . . . ” Tony asked in sort of roundabout way, “Would you just . . . drop the knife?”

At first, the words didn’t seem to register to Yasha and when he glanced down to his hand, like he wasn’t really seeing it, and then he jumped, clearly startled. A horror crept over his face and he quickly dropped the knife to the floor and he scrambled backward, nearly stumbling as the back of his legs hit the bed.

Meanwhile, Tony let out a wheeze of a relief, his chest hurt for holding his breath for so long time that he felt dizzy for a moment there. He rubbed his hand over his neck and found it wet. One inch deeper, Tony would’ve been goner.

“I’m sorry.” Yasha whispered and there he stood, few spaces from Tony, hair over his face, perhaps to attempt conceal his red rimmed eyes filled with misery and it was horrible. Tony never wanted to see that on Yasha’s face.

“Hey, no harm done.” He waved it off but noted there was tremor coursing on his stained fingers so he folded both of them into his armpit in attempt of nonchalance. “It was a flight or fight response type which you fall in the latter—good to know—and as you can see I’m okay—might’ve peed on myself a little, but other than that, I’m copacetic.”

The man didn’t meet Tony’s gaze, staring at the floor instead as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. Tony moved in to reassure him but Yasha retreated, further back in the corner. Tony swallowed and stepped back to give him a breather, his throat tight and feeling guilty for even just stepping inside the room. It could’ve been avoided if he just ignored Yasha’s screams.

“Bucky.”

He jerked at the name and his eyes flicked upward to Tony’s.

“You were having nightmare.” Tony told him, “You just reacted. I should’ve known better than try attempt to wake a shell-shocked solider from a bad nightmare.”

Yasha didn’t seem to be relieved to hear that, “It doesn’t make it okay.” He spoke, voice rough, “I hurt you. Worse, I could’ve killed you.”

“You might have.” Tony knew denying it wouldn’t make the situation any better, “But you didn’t. Let just chalk this as lesson learned and not to repeat it for future reference if it happens again.” Yasha still looked miserable and Tony wanted to laugh or cry or throw a punch or all of them at the same time, he didn’t know, “I’ll . . .  poke you with a long broomstick, a really long one.” He mimicked the size with his hands but sadly, his arms were short for the length he wanted to portray.

Thankfully, Tony could see Yasha noticed his sad attempt of humor and his lips twitched into facsimile of a smile, but it was short lived, “JARVIS worked just fine.”

Tony’s shoulder slumped and he blew a tired exhale, “Yeah, I know.” He moved to plop down at the edge of the bed, “Unfortunately, he’s indisposed.”

Suddenly, Tony felt exhausted, sore all over, his neck aching in sort paper-cut sensation that wouldn’t go away. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to fight the residual tremor, the familiar fading rush of adrenaline, relief, ache and wanting everything _just_ stop for a moment without having another nervous breakdown either from Yasha or himself.

Tony felt the bed shift when Yasha sat down next to him, shoulders brushing together, and their legs an inch apart. Strangely enough, Tony’s rioting emotions settle at the contact of his skin, simply sharing spaces and contact, breathing in tune to each other in complete silence and Tony could’ve fallen asleep easily with him there.

“It’s really bright.” Yasha blurted, out blue.

Tony turned his face to look at him and found Yasha staring at the blue glow of his arc reactor. All at once, Tony felt self-conscious of the bumpy scars tissues around the arc reactor and that he was naked except the waist down. The urge to cross his arm over the tech was the hardest thing Tony ever did tonight.

“Yeah. Hard to sleep with the light sometimes.”

He cocked his eyes to his, his expression knowing, “Do you dream of it?”

His first instinct was to deny, deny and deny but it was obvious what Yasha meant it and surprisingly, Tony found he didn’t want to lie to him.  “I used to.” He said quietly, “But lately, I haven’t had dreams for a while.”

They sat silence for another few moments, and then Yasha said to the half- darkness, “He called me by that name.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” He murmured, his face distant, lost in memory, “I was falling and I heard him scream my name. Bucky.” He said, testing his own name, perhaps for the first time in a long time. It sounded right, “I don’t think I saw his face. If I did, then I don’t remember . . . or maybe I don’t want to.” 

“Is this what you dreamed just then?”

He nodded.

Tony was watching him silently as if weighting what to say, “I might know one or two about the man in the train.”

Yasha snorted to Tony’s surprise “You don’t say?” He said sarcastically.  “You read my files after all.”

“That’s not it. At least, that’s not where I got the info.” Tony corrected himself, lips curling in sort amused smile, “I don’t know if you found about it since it’s not really secret. Very in public, actually.  I even saw the documentaries, especially the one with obvious carbon copy of ‘Band of Brother’ grit through the whole film but I blubbered like a baby anyway—”

“You’re rambling.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard Yasha, “—the point is, you’re sort famous.”

Yasha blinked, not sure how to take the information but he found himself saying, “How famous?”

Tony smirked, “Wanna find out?”

*****

Fury was beyond past annoyance, past irritation, past whatever they called. After weeks and weeks of another dead-ends of the blown covers of the agents or the investigation of the unofficial 'death' Alexander Pierce leading to nowhere, the strange gods in New Mexico, the rising bodies that kept popping around and dozen WSC's meetings demanding for a permanent solution, Fury wanted nothing more to shoot someone’s eyes, blow up some building, shove the knife into kneecaps or—

“Director.”

He restrained himself in rolling his eye out exasperation before putting a professional mask and turned to look at Hill, clasping his hands behind him to rest on the base of his spine, “Yes, Deputy?”

“This might interest you.” Hill handed the tablet to Fury.

He took it slowly, “Is this about Concón?”

“Better.”

Fury looked at her suspiciously before shifting his gaze to the tablet. After a moment, he blinked, “Is this accurate?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I’ll be dammed.” Fury breathed out, staring at the blue tinted-face picture of a blonde man, the ice partially covering the whole body but he still could see the red and blue and white uniform, one that he had seen many times in vintage films and old files that had yellowed over time before they went digital. “He does exist.”  He looked up at Hill, “I guess Agent Coulson will have his cards signed after all.”


	11. In Tony We Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DreadPirateWombat, who is the most awesome beta who helped me beautifully with this fic with her fact-check, suggestions, and her infectious enthusiasm.

Yasha found dozens of documentaries claiming to be “inspired by real events” of the “deceased” James “Bucky” Barnes, and most of them focused on Capitan America, highlighting their friendship with greater emphasis. There were documentaries of Bucky’s background, history books with his cocky face plastered over them, statues erected in his memory in Italy and D.C. There were even dolls featuring him. Tony had shown him a “Bucky Bear” back at the Mansion with childish glee. The teddy bear had been clothed in bright red and blue colors with a black mask slapped over its eyes, perhaps to show how patriotic the old Bucky Barnes had been.

Yasha found it all disquieting. He couldn’t find anything familiar in the sepia pictures. The Barnes of the past looked so confident and so _young_. Although he hadn’t aged physically, Yasha still felt the weight of his years, He felt it in the way his reflection stared back at him with eyes that had seen too much. He had lived too long, without actually living, and he’d forgotten what it was like to be young, to be reckless to waste away his days without worry or concern.

The Bucky Barnes in the photos was stranger to him.

“You know. . . ” Tony said, nudging Yasha in the shoulder with a banana, snapping him out of his deep concentration of the old photos and files. “They still use the marksman tactics you developed in WWII in sniper training. Even Rhodey swears those skills have saved his life, although I think he was kidding, because he’s pilot and not a marksman.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yasha said, even as he accepted the banana, watching Tony sit down across him with one of his unpleasant  green smoothies in his hand.

“You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning,” Tony argued, slurping his drink with relish. “I know because JARVIS pointed it out to me. Congrats, you made my AI worry about you, which means you’ve got a friend for life. Good for you. Bad for me—means I gotta put on my mom pants. Believe me, you don’t want see me in them. Personally, I think they’re so ugly that they shouldn’t exist no matter how comfortable they are.”

Yasha grimaced and peeled the banana with reluctance. “I’ve been distracted.”

Tony snorted. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days? That’s cute. Me? I would call it obsessed.” He set down the glass on the table, rubbing his forehead with his thumb, careful not to touch his healing cuts. “I also know you haven’t been sleeping.”

That gave Yasha a sickening feeling in his gut, and he glanced at the hidden cameras in the room. “Did JARVIS tell you this too?”

Tony shook his head. “Actually, I found it out on my own one night when I came upstairs for coffee, and I saw you watching a documentary about yourself.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “Nightmare?”

Yasha took a bite in order to avoid answering him, but Tony sat there, patiently. He looked like he had all day. “Not really.”

“Okay.” Tony stood up, grabbing his glass. “I ordered pizza.”

“I told you I’m not hung—”

“So you said,” Tony cut in breezily. “Eat with me anyway. I doubt I’ll eat everything since I asked for four extra-large supreme pizzas, with those cheese breadsticks you love to dip in the sauce.” Tony paused before continuing, “Oh, I nearly forgot to mention your favorite double chocolate cheesecake with whipped cream on top that’s waiting for you.” Tony shrugged dismissively, “But if you’re not hungry, then I guess it’s all mine.”

Yasha’s mouth nearly watered at Tony’s description, and his stomach clenched with hunger pangs. He set down the half-eaten banana before crossing his arms and glaring at Tony.  “I know what you’re trying to do, and I don’t like it.”

“Good,” said Tony, grinning. “You’re not stupid after all.”

Yasha warred with himself for one minute, trying to convince himself that the files were more important than eating—that he needed to recapture everything Hydra had taken from him, before it could vanish and that indulging in something as trivial as eating was a waste of time—but after several minutes arguing with himself, Yasha found he no longer cared.  He wanted to eat, wanted to bask in Tony’s companionship, to relax and to laugh.

“Fine,” he conceded. “You win this round.”

*****

“I keep dreaming of them.”

A fork holding a wedge of cheesecake stilled near Tony’s mouth, and he sat upright on his couch, staring at Yasha, bewildered.

Yasha kept eating his cheesecake, his expression neutral. “The guys in the war,” he clarified,  “the team.”

Tony stared at him for a long moment, sternly reining in his first two impulses—to start squealing excitedly like some crazed fanatic or to grab some popcorn and wait to be entertained. Instead, he settled back onto the couch and matched Yasha’s deadpan tone. “Really?”

“Yeah, the guys—” Yasha paused, frowning, as though he was trying to remember something. “What they did call us?”

“The Howling Commandos.”  

Yasha nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds about right.”  He glanced down at his plate, “I keep dreaming of them. Not all the time, though. Sometimes it’s my sisters. Sometimes it’s Sarah.”

“Sarah?”

“His mom, I think,” he replied and paused, expecting a barrage of questions, but Tony didn’t say a word. It was clear he knew who Yasha was referring to. Yasha took another huge bite of cheesecake, his voice coming out muffled when he continued. “She liked daises. Always put them in a vase on the table. Made the place look nicer.”

Tony’s mother had been the same, except with tulips, and suddenly, he felt a pang of nostalgia. His gaze travelled toward the ornate side table next to the couch, it looked lonely and bare.

“She was fond of me.” Yasha swallowed his food and smiled a little. “She would fuss over me, fix my collar, straighten my tie, would find something to feed me. It didn’t matter she had to ration the food, there was always food for me and Steve. And if I so much as misbehaved, she would pull my ear and drag me to my parents for reprimands and a butt-walloping.”

That earned a chuckle from Tony. The sound seemed to encourage Yasha, and the words spilled forth in an unrestrained torrent.

“Dum Dum had this Winchester. He loved that shotgun more than anything. He’d take it apart and polish the pieces lovingly before and after the battle.”

“Bit excessive.”

“Tell me about it,” Yasha snorted then grinned at another particular memory. “I remember playing poker with them. We used to bet our socks and shoes.”

“I’m appalled. Shocked. Mortified,” Tony said dramatically, placing a hand to his forehead. “Why would you bet those? _Sock_ _s_ of all things?”

“You don’t want to know.” Yasha had to hold back a smile when Tony wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Morita always won. We all secretly thought he could count cards. If not, then that bastard was awfully lucky.”

Yasha leaned back on the couch, thoughts obviously wandering down memory lane, “Falsworth loved singing. Had a good voice for it. Would sing lots’a dirty songs, like, ‘ _There once was a fellow McSweeny, who spilled some gin on his weenie.’_ ” He was half-singing at the end and heard Tony burst into a small laugh—with a sort of giggle thrown into it—and it was distracting—goddamn it. Yasha would listen to that laugh every day if he could. He had gotten addicted to it when he heard it in San Pedro. It was honest. Giddy. Contagious. And he wanted to hear more of it. 

“He was also particularly fond of ‘Hitler has only got one ball’,” he said, aiming for another laugh.

“Oh, now you’re making that up.”

Yasha couldn’t fight his own smile. “It’s true.”

Tony was intrigued. “Did you sing along?”

“Yep. We all did.”

“Sing to me,” Tony demanded.

Yasha raised an amused eyebrow. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Hand me that last piece of cheesecake.”

“It’s mine!” Tony gasped and hugged the plate close to his chest, careful not to squish the cheesecake. “Why would you steal another man’s dessert, you heathen!”

“It’s not yours anymore if you want hear the song.” He tugged Tony’s plate playfully, but the older man stubbornly resisted. “Come on, don’t you want hear it?”

Tony was sorely tempted, but he wasn’t about to give in so easily. “How about if you take half of it?”

“Deal.” Yasha lifted his own plate, with the remaining tiny crumb of  crust on it, making a ‘go on’ hand gesture in mocking fashion.

The cheesecake was sliced into halves with a fork and Tony shoved one half onto Yasha’s plate. “There. Your half,” he muttered petulantly. “Start singing.”

Yasha cleared his throat, suddenly shy and nervous, “You better not laugh at me.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Alright, here it goes.” He took his breath and began singing, “ _Hitler has only got one ball, the other is in the albert hall, his mother, the dirty bugger cut it off when he was small_.” Yasha could see Tony’s lips twitch in a valiant effort to keep from smiling. _“She threw it into the apple tree, the wind blew it, into the deep blue sea, the fishes got out their dishes._ ” Yasha’s voice was ringing and bright. “ _And had scallops and bollocks for tea!”_

When Yasha looked at Tony, he had his hands over his face, and his shoulders were shaking, as he tried to contain his laughter and failed. Tony sniggered. Loudly.

It wasn’t full blown laughter, but Yasha liked the sound anyways, and it was contagious. He found himself grinning.

“That can’t be all of it,” Tony said, grinning so hard that his eyes crinkled. “There must be more.”

“You’re right but I don’t remember rest of it.”

“What else do you remember?”

Yasha was still grinning, his eyes soft but something was different, something Tony couldn’t define. “I remember Steve.”

Tony’s eyes widened a bit, surprised, his grin leaving his face entirely. “Your friend, right?”

“I guess.” Yasha’s grin faltered, and then it faded completely. “For a while I thought he was my little brother. Seemed to be that way.”

Tony’s mouth went dry and he felt his heart hammer against his arc reactor. “But?”

The line of his mouth tightened. “I don’t know. My memories . . .  they don’t feel like mine. I remember how scared I was in the war and the cold when it snowed, but it’s like watching everything through a movie. You root for the characters, you sympathize with them and you feel sad when they’re going through some ordeal. But that’s the problem. It doesn’t feel like _me_.”

Tony stared at him, feeling strangely saddened. “And yet, you do think of him. All the time.”

Yasha frowned and met his eyes. “How’d you know?”

For a moment, Tony tried to smile but it dropped off his face, leaving him looking almost crestfallen. “You mentioned your friends and Sarah. Little details about them. But not him. Not Steve. Which leaves me to conclude that either you don’t care about him at all or it’s the other way around. Knowing you, it’s the latter.”

Yasha stared at Tony for a long moment, then looked away, his eyes downcast, as he gingerly picked up the fork from his plate. “I think I miss him.”

Tony said nothing in response. He didn’t know how to reply.

“Is he . . .” Yasha trailed off, lifting his head, looking far more exhausted than he had just second ago. “Is he dead?”

There were different ways Tony could have replied, obfuscated and misdirected the question, but in the end he opted for the truth. “I really don’t know.” He played with his cheesecake with his fork but didn’t try to eat. “He’s classified as MIA, disappeared during the war, near to the end. His plane went down somewhere in the arctic, but no one knows the exact coordinates. No body, no grave to bury him in.”

Yasha wasn’t surprised as he took the information in, and yet his mouth trembled noticeably, his eyes bright with sadness.

“Howard kept looking for him,” Tony told him, wanting Yasha to know that there were people who cared for Steve after Bucky fell. Colonel Philips. The Howling Commando. Peggy. Howard. “He did for years, leading a dozen expeditions in the Arctic for any glimpse of the plane but then he . . .”

He quickly stopped, realizing how his rambling might come off, but Yasha had already connected the dots.

“He died,” Yasha said flatly. “I killed him.”

With a shaky breath, Tony rubbed his face with his fingers, wondering once again if he should feel anything about his parents’ death. He dredged up the memory of being seventeen years old; crying when the police had notified him that his mom was gone, followed by a white-hot rage toward Howard, believing him drunk behind the wheel. For a long time, Tony had thought Howard had killed his mother. Regardless of the fact that he had killed himself as well  and despite that it hadn’t been intentional, Tony had still blamed him. Now, remembering didn’t do anything for Tony except make him feel sympathy for the man who had killed his parents.  

He wasn’t sure which one of those was worse.

“Hydra was the one who pulled the trigger; you were the gun, Yasha,” Tony insisted with a calmness he didn’t feel inside. “Your body might have been present, but the rest of you? No. You weren’t there. Not in a way that would have mattered.” Tony tapped his own head. “As much as I hate to say it, you were a puppet for Hydra.”

The metal hand tightened on Yasha’s plate, nearly cracking it. “It feels like nothing has changed about that.”

Tony paused, confused as he mulled over Yasha's words. When it clicked, he was outraged. “You mean _me_?” He waited for a response but unfortunately, Yasha remained stubbornly silent. Just like that, Tony’s nerves multiplied tenfold. “Does it bother you? That I’m part of it?”

“Yes.”

“Well . . .” Tony muttered, trailing off. If he was being honest with himself, Yasha’s admission wasn’t much of a shock. He couldn’t really blame him, not when Tony had felt the same, when he found out Hydra had messed up his brain and not in the fun way. Still, he didn’t like the thought that Yasha had been harboring such trepidation toward Tony this entire time.

An idea crept into his mind, but Tony was reluctant to mention it to Yasha. For one thing, Tony wasn’t sure if Yasha would even be receptive to the idea, and secondly, it would leave Tony defenseless. Sure, Yasha didn’t seem trigger happy right now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind in the blink of an eye. For all Tony knew, Yasha might be humoring him, playing along until Tony let his guard down and Yasha could take his revenge.

But once the idea occurred to Tony, it was too late. The thought was insidious and unrelenting enough that it gave him a headache. Already, he was feeling cautiously optimistic, flirting with the notion of committing the idea to action.

Was it possible?

“Come on. I have something to show you.”  

Thankfully, Yasha didn’t bother asking what and followed Tony downstairs to the workshop; the light came on automatically as they entered. Tony weaved through the half-finished projects and moved to the center of the room, looking nervous and uneasy.

“I’m going to show you something,” Tony began. “No one but me has seen it. What you what you decide to do afterwards is up to you.”

Tony turned to look up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, bring up the recent files.”

There was a pause before Jarvis answered, _“Are you certain?”_

After the Concón incident, it was clear JARVIS distrusted Yasha. The AI’s approach towards him  had changed, refusing to warm his showers or coffee, or turn lights on for him, or automatically move the elevators to the desired floor. Even JARVIS’s suggestions or answers carried a cold formality that hadn’t been there before, leaving Yasha flustered and feeling guilty.

“Not really,” Tony replied honestly, wheeling the chair closer as he sat down. “Go ahead, J.”

The holographic files appeared in the air, surrounding them in a blue light. Yasha nearly jumped, glancing at the tile-shaped images, all glowing, arranged into column and rows, floating in circles at Yasha’s eye level.

“Go on.” Tony gestured at the files waiting for them.

Yasha stared at him for a long moment, before switching his gaze back to the tiles. He reached toward the top one and touched it with his fingertips.

It unfurled into an index of glowing faces, some moving, reacting, blinking, frowning, smiling and scowling. Some faces had a flashbulb in the background, faint; others were immobile, like a photograph. All kinds of people were there—men and women in business suits, military uniforms, tactical gear, lab coats, casual wear, some even wore hats.

Yasha stared up in awe and reached out tentatively to one of the faces, his eyes widening as the face zoomed forward, a stack of holographic pages appearing next to it. He grabbed the pages, delighted when they responded gorgeously, moving as if they were actual physical objects. He turned, tugged, poked and fluttered them for a minute, before he stopped and actually read the contents. Yasha blinked, at first not understanding, as he perused the faces, one after another, pausing when he found one of them strangely familiar. He took a few steps back to look at so he could see all the faces at once—

Oh, sweet mother of . . .

Members of Hydra. All of them. From scientists to soldiers, to politicians and businessmen. Their contacts information, whereabouts, employment, operatives, current status, _everything_ was there, out in the open _._

It was Hydra, unveiled.

Yasha’s first instinct was to demand answers, and he very nearly did, opening his mouth before snapping it shut. He was at a loss as to where to begin with his questions, overwhelmed by the amount of information, literally right at his fingertips. He’d never been in such a position before. With Hydra, information had been given strictly on a need-to-know basis and even the intel they gave him was often sketchy and incomplete. When he had been following Steve during the war, most of their information had to be gathered on the fly, and the situations were more of the improvise-shit-so-we-can-live-another-day variety. Even when they had detailed information about the enemy and Steve used it to strategically plan their attacks beforehand, things never went off without a hitch.  Of course, even when what Steve had planned was damn near suicidal, he knew he could count on Bucky to watch his back. Tony had no such guarantee; as far as he knew, Yasha would take one look at his plans and run for the hills, or maybe just put a bullet between his eyes. Yet here he was, giving Yasha access to all of his secrets, and Yasha was baffled.

Yasha turned to gape at the man behind him, trying to decipher why Tony would reveal this anyone, much less to _him_. There was no answer in Tony’s face, not at that moment, instead his brown gaze was focused somewhere in the vicinity of a manufacturing machine station, lost in thought.

Yasha returned his attention to the holographic interface. He skimmed the rest of the familiar and not-so-familiar faces. He paused for a moment as he warily perused the Tactical teams index, all organized under the NATO phonetic alphabet. He clicked on “BRAVO” and more pages appeared, listing names, military and intelligence backgrounds, abilities, body counts and preferred weaponry. There were pages of the missions they had underwent, all dated recently. Yasha whistled at the impressive assignments. Tony certainly kept them busy.

Yasha closed the file and almost jumped back, startled, as all the images shrank back into the tile- shaped form, still arranged in rows. He picked another tile, choosing at random.

The tile unfolded like the first, only this time it was a list. Well . . .  not really a list, more like some sort of family tree diagram, with names and faces hung on each line, and every one of them was numbered. Some of them had an ‘X’ mark over their face, some were highlighted in red. The red drew his eyes, staining the blue light like a poison.

“What’s with the red?”

To answer his question, JARVIS moved the faces with red highlights forward, and a single flashing word appeared across their features: MISSING.

Curiously, Yasha looked over at the ones with ‘X’s, only to realize that he knew them—or rather, he knew them as missions. They were the traitors who Tony and Yasha had personally captured or killed.

At the top of the diagram was Nick Fury. He was, by all appearance, alive and accounted for. The second was a woman, Natalia Romanov, and while he didn’t recognize her name, he knew her alias, Black Widow. He could recall the mission when he had first seen her, April 4, 2009. Mission: Assassination. Target: Ali Kirmani, a Nuclear engineer. Yasha had shot her once, after she had tried to protect his primary target. Now here she was in Tony’s files. Threat level: Red. Status: Active.

Memories flashed through his head in a blur. The image of a terrified man begging for his life came to mind, and Yasha could almost smell the scent of gunpowder in the air. He shook his head at the fuzzy memories and looked back at the list in front of him. Below Fury and Romanov were Alexander Pierce and the rest of the Hydra leaders. Most of them had an X marked over their faces, except for Gideon Malick and Wolfgang Von Strucker.

It dawned on Yasha that this was the ‘ _Do Not Trust’_ list. Yasha was surprised that most of the Hydra tactical team was there. Even Yasha was on it, right beneath them, and he couldn’t help but be offended.

“How come I’m not at the top?” He glared at Tony. “I should be up there after the shit I pulled.”

“That’s precisely why you’re not at the top anymore.” Tony shrugged, unfazed “You didn’t kill me, so I bumped you to thirty-seven.”

“Thirty- _seven_?!” Yasha didn’t bother to hide the outrage in his voice. “I could crush your skull all the way down to your spinal cord right now with just this hand.” He illustrated his words with his flesh hand, making a show of stretching his fingers before clenching them into a fist, the bones cracking loudly. “If I wanted to.”

Tony didn’t even blink. In fact, he looked impressed. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t want to.”

“You should sleep with one eye open.”

“That’s JARVIS’ job.”

“He could be shut down.”

“True,” Tony agreed easily, hands in his pockets. “Go for it. If you shut down the servers here, he’ll jump to another one, and another, until he’s infected every server on the planet, JARVIS is eternal as long the Earth stands.” He glanced at the ceiling with a fond expression. “I made him that way in case anything happens to me. Although, I don’t recommend it, because JARVIS can be scary—like ‘Skynet’ scary, with a dose of ‘My name is JARVIS, you killed my father, prepare to die’, only worse. Ten times worse.”

“ _Why, thank you, sir. I didn’t know you though_ _t so highly of me_.” JARVIS sounded pleased, which disturbed Yasha on so many levels, even though he didn’t understand half of them. Not only that, Yasha found he was unsettled by Tony’s easy come, easy go attitude regarding his life. Yasha absolutely hated it, which was laughable, since not long ago he had wanted Tony dead. Now he felt differently. The feeling was something else now—he didn’t know what it was.

“It doesn’t worry you?” Yasha asked, frowning. “Dying?”

Tony’s amused look slowly faded into something serious. “By you? No. By others? Sometimes,” he replied with a slight shrug. “I’m used to it, comes with the territory of being Iron Man.”

“And as Hydra’s leader.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “That too.”

Yasha’s frown deepened, trying to unravel the enigma of the man before him found himself but unable to. If he was honest with himself, Yasha didn’t think there would ever be a day when he would truly understand Tony Stark.

Sighing, Yasha glanced at the list, giving it one last look before he closed the file and moved on to another one.

It instantly exploded into hundreds of images: photos, videos, online news articles, documents, maps and so on. All were connected to each other by long lines weaving between them like constellations, casting a blue sheen over the entire room. It was, Yasha thought delightedly, like watching a small corner of the universe . . . incredibly beautiful and complicated.

And . . . also confusing.

He looked at the nearest image. It was a recent news article about a country, Kyrgyzstan, to be specific.

Yasha stepped closer with a frown, scrolling the article upward, realizing it had pages behind it. He brought those papers to the forefront and saw bold letters appear at the top: ‘ _Situation_ _Resolved_ _;_ _Temporarily Under Scrutiny’_ along with the information from the tactical team sent to contain the revolt without actually ending it, more like staving off the worst of the property destructions and injured causalities.

Not really understanding, he brushed the data aside and moved to another image, the one to his left. It was an ID driver license of a stranger, and next to the image there was data lined up: credit card payments, invoices, text messages, voicemails, a list of contacts, daily routines, and preferred locations. It was amazingly extensive, but Yasha couldn’t understand Tony’s fascination with the man, until he looked closer at the receipts for the list of purchased items.

_IED_ , his mind whispered, as he looked at the supplies, very professionally done, enough to take out a whole block. Yasha skimmed everything, only pausing when he read: _Terrorist. Apprehended and contained._

Yasha moved to the next batch of information, a greenlight assassination on a General, who had committed genocide toward seven villages in Africa.

He swiped again, following the trail of embezzlement from corrupt parties before they’d been reported to the authorities and their known enemies. He swiped again until he pieced the entire puzzle together. Data mining. Apprehending high-top terrorist leaders. Tactical strikes. Extraction points. Re-purposing facilities, safe houses, training areas. Controlling political destabilization. Shutting down illegal or inhumane laboratories throughout many different countries. Neutralizing biological and chemical warfare.

Basically, Tony was slapping a Band-Aid on every recent worldwide crisis out there.

“Why?” Yasha asked, after he finished his cursory reading of the files. He had the strange notion that he had been in this exact position before, it felt familiar, like déjà vu. “This isn’t Hydra. They don’t do this. It’s like . . . you’re fixing the geopolitical climate.”

Tony wasn’t able to hold back a loud snort. “I don’t know if ‘fixing’ is the right word. More like . . . ‘containing.’” He shrugged, faking nonchalance. “And you’re right. Hydra wouldn’t normally do this, unless they’d undergone a change in management.”  

Yasha just stared at him, understanding flooding his eyes.

“This?” Tony pulled out a hand from his pocket to indicate the images. “That’s all on me.” He met Yasha’s eyes. “I know you don’t like Hydra, but this is what they’re doing now. It’s different. We aren’t seeking world domination. We don’t infringe on freedom or persecute those with different beliefs.”

“But _why_?”  

Tony was taken aback at the plaintive tone, as well as the question itself, “What do you mean why?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Do you honestly not know?” At Yasha’s confused look, Tony had to remind himself that the man hardly knew him and he wasn’t currently up to date with recent events.

It didn’t make Tony any happier. He could’ve shown Yasha the news videos from when Tony was missing, given Yasha the S.H.I.E.L.D file and let him connect the dots, but it wouldn’t explain why Tony was hell-bent on such a . . . righteous path? Righteous wasn’t really the right word, though; that would imply he was a good man in first place. He knew he wasn’t, but at the same time, he couldn’t abide being witness to the world’s injustice when he had enough power to end it.

So that left him with one option.

Tony took a deep breath. “In Afghanistan, I had . . . an epiphany. At least that’s what Pepper says to the media.” His lip curled in a self-deprecating smile, almost a grimace. “But that’s not how I would describe it. For me, it was a lesson.” He picked at a small hole in the knee of his jeans, and squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of the sand clinging to his skin. “You see, I got hit by my own company’s weapon, one I designed. Did you know?”

Yasha shook his head, listening.

“Of all the ironies in the world, this one had to blow up right in my face. Literally.”  Tony opened his eyes and saw the room shaded in an endless blue that reminded him of the ocean. “There’s shrapnel inside my chest.” He tapped the arc reactor. “This keeps me alive. It stops the pieces of metals from shearing my heart into ribbons.”

“Does it hurt?”

Tony looked down at his glowing chest briefly, remembering the painful aches when he woke up, the tenderness if he moved in a specific direction, the bouts of seemingly endless flu due to his poor immune  system, the chill of the metal pressing against his skin when it was cold outside, and worst of all, the breathlessness. There had been a moment when he received a straight hit to his chest, and despite the armor, the arc reactor had been crushed to his lung, leaving him unable to breathe.

It had felt like drowning.

“Always,” he said. He swallowed, forcing the memories away. “But I can live with that. What I can’t live is knowing that people used my weapons, the ones I made to _protect_ U.S. soldiers, not kill them. They weren’t supposed to end up in the hands of terrorists or be used to decimate entire villages.” Tony rubbed his face, surprised to realize his hand was shaking. He clenched his hand to stop its trembling, taking a deep breath before continuing, “First thing I did when I returned to the States was to shut down the weapons manufacturing in my company, so they wouldn’t harm anyone else.” He stood up, looking up at the holographic interface. “I just didn’t stop there.”

All of sudden, Yasha understood why the situation felt like déjà vu, where the feeling he had been unable to place before had come from.

He felt the same as before, when Steve had asked if Bucky was ready to follow Captain America.

_“Hell, no_ _,_ _”_ Bucky had said once upon a time, and suddenly he could remember everything from that moment, word for word. “ _That little guy from Brooklyn_ _,_ _who was too dumb to run away_ _from_ _a_ _fight. I’m following him.”_

Except Steve wasn’t the one standing in front of Yasha. Now, it was Tony, with the same fire, the same determination and pure stubbornness. But despite the similarities Yasha could see between the two men, there were differences too, and one stood out from the others. There was a darkness in Tony, and yet he hadn’t let it corrupt him, hadn’t let it take him over, was even now still fighting against that part of himself.

Yasha was stunned to realize at that moment he had already made his decision to follow this glorious madman a long time ago, and Tony had known all the time—maybe he hadn’t been completely certain of it but enough to bring Yasha into Tony’s home, to rely on him during missions. However, over the course of their time together, something between them had changed. Now Tony trusted him wholeheartedly.  

The floating images in front of Yasha glowed brightly, proof of just how much Tony trusted him, and Yasha realized Tony stood before him, having discarded all his masks, all his armor and protection. Despite how difficult it must have been for him, Tony had been brave enough to make the jump.

And that hurt.

Tony’s faith in him hurt, leaving an ache in Yasha’s chest—the kind of ache that lingered and grew. It hurt, because he knew he didn’t deserve such faith. It would have been better if Tony hadn’t trusted him at all.

Somehow, Yasha felt as if he was meeting Tony for the first time, all over again. This new perspective made him realize that Tony was one of the greatest of men—despite his current status as leader of Hydra—he was the type of person who showed kindness and compassion to the same person who had tried to kill him, the type who – after going through his own traumatic experience – made the decision to actively use his power to make the world a better place, rather than remaining the arrogant, foolish man who had been merely lucky to inherit his life of privilege

Yasha thought maybe he could be proud to follow Tony.

“Do they know?”

It was Tony’s turn to be confused. He gave Yasha a blank stare. “Who?”

“Your men. Hydra.” Yasha pointed at the images. “Do they know about this? Your crusade?”

“Fuck no,” Tony blurted out, then clicked his mouth shut, eyes widening, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Yasha’s pale eyes hardened at Tony’s words. “You’re an idiot,” he growled out. “Idiota. Un bruto! Espèce d'imbécile. Идиот. Chutiya ka bheja ghas kane gaya hai.”

“Show off,” Tony muttered under his breath. “Fine, o’ Wise One, please enlighten me as to why I am . . . whatever you said.”

While Yasha was deeply moved by Tony’s trust and his desire to help the world, it didn’t quell the irritation growing inside him, and he wanted to strangle Tony for his stupidity, for being so reckless and risking his life in such way.  “Do you think you can fool them forever? Sooner or later, Hydra will realize your intentions and they’ll all turn on you. Trust me, Stark; you won’t be coming out of this unscathed.”

_“That’s precisely_ _what_ _I’ve been saying since_ _Sir_ _started this_ _,_ _”_ JARVIS interjected drolly.

To Tony’s surprise, Yasha threw an accusing look at the ceiling. “And you didn’t _stop_ him?”

_“Of course not.”_ JARVIS sounded offended, _“_ _That_ _would require kidnapping, imprisoning and sealing_ _Sir_ _away_ _from the world until_ _he_ _agreed to_ _behave_ _sanely_ _.”_

“Hey!” Tony protested. His AI shouldn’t have been capable of such exasperated tone; Tony was positive he hadn’t programmed that particularly personality quirk into JARVIS’ code. He made a note in his head to remind himself to check JARVIS’ skeleton code at some point and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking to create such a cheeky AI.

“ _However,_ ” JARVIS barreled on in an insistent tone, ignoring Tony, “ _I am convinced there are no forces or prisons in this world t_ _hat could_ _actually_ _hold_ _him_ _or prevent him from fighting for what he believe_ _s_ _is right.”_

Tony’s head perked up at that. “Aw, that was almost sweet.”

Yasha looked pensive as he considered JARVIS’ words, and Tony could almost hear the gears clacking loudly inside the assassin’s mind: _click, click_ and _thud_. Yasha’s blue gaze shifted, honing in on Tony with an intensity that made the engineer extremely uncomfortable.

“JARVIS?” Yasha called, eyes still intent on the other man, “How about a deal? You and I, we both work together to keep his stupid asshole alive. Sound good?”

Tony blinked.

_“Why_ _would I trust you with S_ _ir_ _’s safety_ _?”_ JARVIS’ voice was cold.

Yasha lowered his head, flushing with shame, as Tony opened his mouth to alleviate the tension between the AI and the assassin, but Yasha spoke up before he could.

“I can’t deny that I tried to kill him, even though he has done nothing but show me generosity and compassion. He was the first to give me a choice, to treat me like a fucking human being, in decades, and still I believed the worst of him. So, I know I don’t deserve his forgiveness or his trust but  . . . I would like to make amends.” He shifted on his feet, uncomfortably. “I don’t know how to do much, except to watch his back and try to help when he asks. Besides,” he lifted his chin with stubborn determination. “You know I’m your best bet for him to survive this mess.”

“Okay, let me stop you right there,” Tony said, stepping forward. “First of all, I don’t need protecting—”

_“Deal.”_

Tony’s eyes bulged in surprise. “Et tu _,_ JARVIS?”

The assassin grinned, and it took Tony’s breath away. “Bring back the list of the untrustworthy people, especially the missing ones. We got a lot of work to do.”

_“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” Tony straightened, alarmed by this new alliance. He was dismayed when Yasha turned away from him to look at the holographic interface, as JARVIS returned the diagram to the holographic display. “Are you serious? You’re going to work with him? JARVIS? My _baby_?” Tony sputtered, flabbergasted. “To do what?”

Yasha held up a finger in Tony’s direction, as he spoke to the AI, “When did these missing people disappear?”

_“Roughly half of them went missing when_ _S_ _ir announced his_ _taking_ _command_ _o_ _f_ _Hydra._ _Evidence of the rest has_ _slowly faded from digital_ _,_ _financial and biometric systems over time.”_

“Could it be that they’re planning something?” Yasha frowned at the faces, trying to recognize them.

“Hey! I’m talking over here—”

_“My initial analysis of the data indicates_ _that_ _there_ _i_ _s a high probability_ _the majority have_ _hid_ _den_ _in order_ _to gather reinforcements for_ _a_ _preemptive strike against_ _S_ _ir_ _,_ _with_ _the_ _element_ _of_ _surprise_ _as a significant_ _factor, whereas the others are l_ _a_ _ying_ _low in the interim until a_ _‘_ _proper_ _’_ _leader of Hydra emerges.”_

Insulted, Tony sputtered, “Proper leader?!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Yasha said with grimace. “Give me the last known movements of those missing guys.”

JARVIS helpfully supplied the requested data, bringing up an array of digital texts and images. _“Would you like me to send it to your Stark_ _P_ _hone? Encrypted, of course.”_

“Yeah, good idea.”  He paused as something occurred to him. “What’s the nearest airport from here?”

_“Already ahead of you, Mr. Barnes. You’ll be able to depart within three hours to Andorra_ _,_ _where_ _one of the most recent member_ _s_ _of Hydra had disappeared. They’re preparing the jet as_ _we speak.”_

“Great, then I—”

“STOP!” Tony found himself shouting, eye blazing, stalking forward until he was right in Yasha’s face, stabbing his chest with a finger. “You can’t just commandeer my AI and go gallivanting across the country by yourself because you suspect they’re planning something nefarious to overthrow me!”  

Yasha paused, glaring at him. “Really, Stark? You want me to just sit at home looking pretty, like one of those dolls stuck inside a box and do nothing?”

“Yes! I mean no! I just want you to make plan before heading straight to the enemy! You can’t just rush half-cocked, without adequate intel. You need to be rational about this.”

“Well, you’re shit out of luck, because for once, I _am_ being rational. And what intel do we need that we don’t alreadly have?”

Tony looked incredulous at him. “What you’re doing now is the opposite of rational!”

“Tony.” There was something in Yasha’s voice that hadn’t been there before, and it made Tony pause. “What do you expect me to do when you give me choices, encourage me to think freely?” Yasha asked softly, choosing his words carefully. “This is what I do, or at least, what I used to do. Just let me help, I can do this.”

“Even if it means killing others?”

Yasha was caught off guard but as soon the words settled on his mind, he said, “I will protect you. If that means killing others, so be it.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Tony couldn’t believe he was arguing against murdering Hydra members, but he needed Yasha to understand he didn’t have to kill. “We can put them in prison, throw away the key and forget about them.”

“We could,” the assassin responded calmly, “but that’s only an option if they’ll come peacefully and somehow, I doubt I’ll be that lucky.”

“Yasha, I’m saying . . . this isn’t the only way for you to help me.” Tony struggled to find right words, “I mean, I don’t think that Bucky Barnes would want this.”

“The hell he wouldn’t.” Yasha snarled, the thought of Tony having an idealized version of his past-self made him furious. “In the war, first time in the frontlines, I shot a man point blank and watched the life fade from his eyes. Yeah, I felt guilty, because I ended his life, but I still was able to sleep that night.” He swallowed. “Later, I became sniper. That was worse than the frontlines, ‘cause it was easier. There was no urgency. Nearly every time I looked through the scope or an iron sight, I was calm. I didn’t sweat. I didn’t shake. If I saw them as a threat to my men, I shot them. _That’s_ Bucky Barnes,” he said fiercely. “I ain’t a saint, Tony.”

For a long moment, Tony remained silent, his brown eyes wide, mouth parted in surprise. Then his jaw tightened and he said, “I’m not Steve.”

Yasha was taken aback, and it took him a moment to realize what Tony meant. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“You’re not replacing him.”

“Then why—”

Exasperated, Yasha bit out, “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like ya, stupid ass and all?”

“I would’ve believed you in a heartbeat if you hadn’t tried to kill me in Concón or even just moments ago, before you said you might feel better if I wasn’t part of Hydra,” Tony replied calmly, not accusing but matter-of-fact.

The assassin winced. “Fair enough. Not one of my finer moments.”

“It doesn’t—” Tony cut himself, rubbing his face with his palms to buy time to gather his thoughts, but none were forthcoming. So he settled on: “You’ve gotta admit, this change of heart is out of the blue.”

At Tony’s words, Yasha’s expression changed. The shame and uncertainty left his face, instead becoming hard, eyes all fire, resolve and determination. “I disagree.”

“What—” Tony had to pause to swallow the lump lodged in his throat. “What if they get you? Wipe your mind again and set you loose, only this time I’m the target?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Yasha said tightly, trying not to contemplate such a possibility. Unfortunately, he found it far too easy to picture it happening. He could almost see the stillness of Tony’s chest, his face pale, the brilliant, mischievous glint in those brown eyes gone forever, and the image left Yasha’s chest feeling too full, too tight.

“You can’t say that for certain, Yasha.” Tony looked away. “I don’t want to kill you, but if I’m forced to, I’ll do it.”

“Good. If that happens, I want you put me down.”

Tony made a distressing sound. “Jesus, don’t say it like that, like you’re an animal.”

“I’m serious,” Yasha spoke through clenched teeth. “If I hurt you or someone else. . .” He squeezed his eyes against the bloody memories that haunted him. “I don’t think I could live with myself if that happened again.” He opened his eyes. “Promise me, if they manage to turn me back into that . . .  that _creature_ . . .  stop me, at any cost.”

Tony wanted to protest, to refuse Yasha’s request, to walk away and pretend this conversation had never happened, but he couldn’t. Fuck, he couldn’t. As much as Tony hated the idea, Yasha was right. Tony wouldn’t wish the Winter Soldier even on his worst enemies.

“Fine,” Tony nodded, reluctantly. “But I have conditions.”

Yasha narrowed his eyes at Tony, clearly suspicious, but he finally conceded with only a slight nod of his head.

“One,” Tony began, sticking out his thumb. “You will keep the StarkPhone with you at all times, so you can contact me every day. If I call you, you answer it, no matter what. I mean it. We’ll give you an earpiece for it - try not to lose it - and you answer, even if you’re in the middle of a fight, or I swear to science I will suit up and come after you before you can say ‘HYDRA sucks’.” Next, he straightened his index finger. “Two, I’m going to give you a card. It looks like a normal credit card, and it can be used as one, but should you ever find yourself in trouble, snap the card in two, and it will send me a distress signal from your current location. You need to keep it with you so I can trace you, even if they take you far from your last known location.” Out came the middle finger. “Third, if you need help, you will not hesitate to contact me.” He paused, hesitating, but he felt compelled to speak, and so he unfurled his ring finger. “Fourth, I’ll keep my promise and let you do this way but I need to know we’re on the same side. I need you to make me a promise.”

Yasha’s shoulders tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I know you don’t agree with what I’m doing, or my methods, and I’m not the most . . . rational person when it comes to all of this.” He looked at the list, feeling far too small for so much power. “Sometimes I don’t see the lines that shouldn’t be crossed —maybe because I’m too close to the project or something, I don’t know.”

Tony tried to smile reassuringly, but it died before it could reach his face. “I’m not asking you to promise to follow me, you know. It’s more like, there’s something I need you to say to me, if I go off the deep end.”

Yasha couldn’t believe what he was hearing and somehow breathing had become difficult. He struggled to find the right words but he found himself saying, “A-and what’s that?”

“’Stop.’”

“Why?” Yasha asked hoarsely.

Tony’s face twisted. “Because lately . . .  I’m noticing I don’t feel remorse. Self-loathing. Sadness. I know the feelings should be there because I remember feeling them before, but now they’re absent when it matters. They come and go.”

Yasha frowned, not liking the implications of what Tony was saying. “Do you know why?”

“I have few theories.”

“You gonna do anything about it?”

“Depends,” Tony hedged.

“On what?”

“If it will kill me to try and fix it.”

This time, Yasha was certain he wasn’t breathing; his chest felt like it was caught in a vise. “Oh,” he managed to say. “That’s not good.”

Tony shrugged in response, not knowing what else to say.

The silence stretched between them and Yasha took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said at last, his voice still hoarse. “Your conditions sound fair. I’ll agree to ‘em.” He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Did you say something about a credit card?”

Yasha was rewarded with a slow, brilliant smile and a mischievous glint in Tony’s eyes.

*****

“They grow up too fast,” Tony bemoaned loudly, as he stared at the words: _‘departed’_ by Yasha’s flight plan displayed on his monitor. “One day he’s just a mean little solider who grunts a lot. Now . . .” He shook his head dramatically. “Gone, in the blink of an eye.”

_“Indeed.”_ JARVIS sounded amused.

Tony aimed a glare at the security cameras. “It’s your fault, you know.”

_“Oh my. Whatever should I do?”_ JARVIS responded acerbically.

“Smart-ass,” Tony muttered. “Just keep an eye on him, will ya?”

_“I will endeavor to do my best.”_

Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair, scanning the dozen monitors surrounding him, but they showed nothing of interest. Bored, he spun his plush chair around repeatedly, pensive, dissecting everything that had happened over the last couple of hours.

“Hey JARVIS?”

_“Yes?”_

“Open a new folder. Private.”

A folder appeared on the monitor and a text cursor blinked on the tab.

“ _What name_ _shall I give it_ _?_ ”

“Steve Rogers, aka, Captain America.”


	12. The Return of Captain America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would also like to reiterate and thank the amazingly talented, awesome, absolutely fantastic DreadPirateWombat for the beta in this chapter! *Hugs*

Tony missed Yasha. Just a teeny bit.

Well, no, that was a lie. Tony missed Yasha a _lot_ ; it was a full throttle, squeezing ache in his chest. He missed Yasha’s bitchy resting face, his rare smiles, his calm presence, and their odd talks. Tony even missed Yasha’s routines, watching the solider stalk around the perimeters, checking the weak points in the Manor’s securities, cleaning his guns, his new interest in cooking, his bizzaro taste in T.V, ranging from cheesy documentaries to travel shows. Most of all Tony missed the sound of Yasha’s turntable record player causing the hallways to echo with the voices of singers of the old, a lovely reminder that told Tony he wasn’t alone. God he missed Yasha like a toothache that never left, burrowing down to his gum until his teeth rotted away—

Okay, not the best metaphor, Tony thought, staring idly at the water all around him, rippling and shimmering under the sunlight as he sat on the top of a towering limestone cliff in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. He’d discovered this isolated bit promontory on one of his joy rides – joy flights? – and found it to be an excellent spot for contemplation. And wallowing. Which he wasn’t doing. Not at all. He was just sitting here sitting in the middle of the ocean and thinking. And if his thoughts kept turning to how hollow he felt without the super soldier, who was thousands of miles away, engaging in dangerous missions, without Tony there to back him up if things went FUBAR . . . Well, that wasn’t wallowing.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reveling in the feel of the damp wind on his skin, the taste of salt in his mouth, trying not to think of those blues eyes on other side of the world, and failing.

It was hard not to think of him, even harder when Tony woke up in the Manor, and once again found himself still alone, He would wander the cavernous rooms, the spaces achingly empty, feeling like a ghost in his own home, haunting the hallway that led to Yasha’s room. He never went inside, though, not with Yasha somewhere else, but Tony was sorely tempted. He yearned to bask in a room so filled with the supersoldier’s presence, to find comfort surrounded by the things Yasha had used to make the space _his_ , but in the end, he respected Yasha far too much to invade his privacy.

Phone calls had helped to dull the strange version of homesickness that pervaded Tony’s every waking moment since Yasha’s absence. It was odd how soothing he found them; hearing Yasha’s voice was a balm to Tony’s nerves. He’d listen as Yasha spoke, to the accented words and rough voice, and somehow calm would descend on him, slowing his ever-rapid thoughts into coherent trains of thought. Even stranger was that Yasha sounded more . . .  confident, assured—it was as if his self-imposed mission had given Yasha a purpose and it made him more like _himself_. Like his old-self? Tony couldn’t say for sure, since he had never known Bucky Barnes before the Fall, but if asked, Tony would say without a single doubt that Yasha was now _less_ the Solider, less the automaton whose world was made up order and violence and more _human_. The Soldier part would probably never go away, but Tony found he was okay with that. In fact, Tony didn’t mind the Solider, liked that part of Yasha even, just not that thousand-yard stare.

Still, Tony missed him. Missed him so much Tony had put on his Iron Man suit and flown for nearly six hours, distracting himself by blowing up random bits of landscape and abandoned structures, because it was easier than hearing the sounds of the Manor - JARVIS’ artificial voice that following Tony throughout the house, the white noise of the TV, the _rattle, tap, tap, tap_ machinery in his workshop, the groaning of titanium alloy bending inside the manufacturing station, the electrical hum of the refrigerator in his kitchen and even his own breathing bothered him, only emphasizing the absence of Yasha’s voice, his quiet presence.

Although it wasn’t silent here, amidst the susurrus sounds of the waves below and the rushing of the wind in his ears, the sounds were calming instead of distracting. They didn’t remind him of his solitude.

The change of scenery also worked wonders on Tony’s mood; the salty scent of the ocean, its vast beauty and crashing waves, caressed his senses, and he felt himself relax into a tranquil state. He sighed, satisfied and he would’ve been content for the rest of the day, if the rest of the world hadn’t rudely come to knock at his mental door in the form of JARVIS’ voice, saying:

_“Sir, War Machine incoming from 8 klicks. ETA: One minute and three seconds.”_

Tony jerked, startled, and the motion nearly tumbled him off the edge. He quickly regained his stability and looked up through his sunglasses.

On cue, a loud high pitched whine pierced Tony’s ears, as a silver streak burst through the clouds. The armor reflected the sun’s glare brilliantly as it curved around directly toward Tony’s direction.

“JARVIS-” Tony’s voice carried a hint of warning.

As if the AI had read his mind, JARVIS retorted, _“I did not tell him.”_ Tony opened his mouth to ask but the robotic butler went on. “ _Might I remind you, sir, that after the events of your birthday party and omission of information about the palladium poisoning, you agreed to give Colonel Rhodes your Iron Man’s suit’s current whereabouts whenever he dons his War Machine armor, so as to avoid another drunken fiasco similar to the one from your birthday.”_

“Right.” Tony deflated like a popped balloon, as he recalled that night with shame, and then he swallowed the lump lodged in his throat, before asking, “Has he been monitoring me?”

There was a brief pause before JARVIS replied, _“Negative, sir. Colonel Rhodes hasn’t accessed the suit’s mainframe to map your recent locations. This is only the fourth time Colonel Rhodes has used his armor since the incident with Ivan Vanko and for the most part you have been inactive each time, except for today.”_

Tony wanted to slap himself for his moment of stupidity, but he resisted the urge, since his hands were encased in the armor. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten this. What the hell had he been thinking? Why had he thought giving Rhodey the ability to track him was a good idea in first place?

It was sheer dumb luck that had carried Tony this far. It would’ve been child’s play for Rhodey to have noticed the correlation between the suit’s location and the trail of destruction Tony had left from cleaning up Hydra.

_Jesus_ , Tony thought, realizing how close he had been to being discovered.

Immediately, Tony thought of overriding the GPS within his Iron Man armor’s circuits, but he nixed the idea before it could take root. That would’ve garnered more suspicion than he had already.

“Note to self - decoys.”

_“Noted.”_

Tony waved in a mocking fashion at the glint of silver above, as it finally approached close enough to see the familiar blunt shape in midair, flashy shoulder gun and all. War Machine slowed enough to flip his legs forward and lower himself into a hover close to Tony, palms spread open, the repulsors whining loudly.

Despite his internal panic and the possibility he was about to be discovered, Tony was glad to see Rhodey. “Honeypuss!” he shouted, flinging his arms wide as if for a hug.

“Tony.”

Tony could almost hear the grimace in his friend’s voice at the annoying endearment and found himself grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Still, regardless of his amusement, Tony lowered his arms, bringing one hand to touch the sunglasses he wore. He pulled them low to the tip of his nose, narrowing his eyes and peering over the rims suspiciously at Rhodey. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Platypus, but why are you here?”

“Move over and I’ll tell you why.”

“Nope,” Tony popped the ‘p’ loudly. “I’m staying right here.”  He tapped his knee with his knuckles to emphasize his point.

Rhodey opened his faceplate to give Tony an I’m-not-in-mood-for-your-shit look. “Come on, Tony”

“That glower hasn’t worked on me in awhile, my little smoochie-kins.”

This time, the grimace was visibly apparent. “Please, no. I’ve got enough nightmares from my friends calling me that all through MIT up ‘til graduation.”

Tony couldn’t help but snigger as he recalled the horror on Rhodey’s face when he realized the nickname had stuck. “Which do you prefer, then? Poobear? Bitsy-pookums? Snuggle Wuggle Wookie—”

“You’re being annoying.” Rhodey’s eyes narrowed into slits and he lowered himself to Tony’s eye level, easily steadying the armor in the midair. “More annoying than usual—”

“Of course I am, have you met me—”

“Which means you’re up to something and—”

Tony snorted at that. “Nothing unusual, then—”

“Tones.”

“Rhodey.”

They both glared at each other, neither allowing a single blink to interrupt their staring contest, daring the other to look away.

Rhodey broke first.

“If you’re going to be like that, then fine,” the Colonel gritted out. “I came here because I was worried about you. Happy now?”

Tony grinned. “Ecstatic.” As promised, he moved further to the left, his armor scraping loudly on the rock until finally there was space enough for Rhodey. Tony patted the vacated spot invitingly. “Was that hard?”

“With you?” Rhodey began—as he sort of glided forward until his boots thudded on the rock,  “Always.” 

Pushing his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, Tony craned his head up to look at Rhodey, squinting a little under the harsh sunlight, waiting. However, Rhodey was admiring the lush emerald island behind Tony, with a series of cliffs and surrounding pillars of limestones scattered about the crystal clear water.

“Nice place you got here,” Rhodey commented, then looked down at Tony. “Why here?”

Tony shrugged. “Pit stop,” he said by way of explanation. “So, what’s the deal? As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Define fine.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a bit off. You published sixteen patents just this month and from what R&D says, you’ve got twenty-seven open projects marked as works in progress, including the arc-reactor power grid you’re designing for the Stark Tower. And on top of that, you went to three board conferences at SI, after you’d already refused to go to even one, stating the only way you’d go was, and I quote, ‘over my dead body’.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, although he wasn’t actually surprised by Rhodey’s reaction, he just hadn’t expected this so soon. “Pepper called you, didn’t she?”

“What’s going on, Tones?”

With that simple question, Tony’s mind suddenly went blank. The well-formed excuses he had formed long ago just up and left his brain, without so much as a by-your-leave, and Tony found himself staring at his friend for an awkwardly long time.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

Incredulous, Rhodey frowned at him. “Seriously?”

“Er . . . would you believe me if I said I’d done all those things because I was bored?”

“I would have, if this was before the fun-vee.” Rhodey looked at him, face concerned, his tone gentle. “Nowadays you use excessive amounts of work as a distraction when something is really bothering you.”

“A lot of things bother me,” Tony began. “Planking. Mitt. King’s Speech, Best film? _Really_? I would’ve gone for Inception. And what’s with that Friday song? Worse, they stopped the space shuttle program last month, can you believe—”

“You’re doing it again—trying to distract me,” Rhodey pointed out and Tony fell silent, sulking a bit for being called out. When nothing additional was forthcoming, Rhodey sighed and moved to sit next to Tony, elbowing him in the chest, with a clang. “Come, on man. It’s me.”

And that was the problem; Tony wanted to tell him everything. With Rhodey, there was this nagging desire to spill his guts, making it almost painful to keep his secrets safely behind his teeth. Not to mention the fact that Rhodey knew him better than anyone else, and it was nearly impossible for Tony to hide things from him. That didn’t stop Tony from trying, back when he was dying from palladium poisoning, but even then, Rhodey had known something was up.

Tony figured that telling some of truth was his best bet. “I kinda . . . miss someone.”

Rhodey’s face had softened marginally. “Huh,” he said. “It didn’t even occur to me to think along those lines, but it’s kinda obvious, isn’t it?”

Tony looked at him sideways, puzzled. 

“You know it isn’t over, right?” Rhodey threw his arm over Tony’s shoulder for comfort. “Yeah, I get that things didn’t end well with you two, what with being stood up and everything, not to mention the sudden second thoughts which, I felt, were kinda unfair. Still, it doesn’t mean you can’t try again with her.”

“Try?” Tony echoed with wide eyes, not entirely sure if he was following Rhodey or if the subject had shifted into new territory.

“Yeah. Why not? I know she still has feeling for you.”

Suddenly, it clicked for Tony. “You’re talking about Pepper?”

Rhodey pulled back to look at Tony, his expression bewildered. “Yes, Pepper.” He paused as he studied Tony closely. “Who did you think I meant?”

Tony opened his mouth to reply but stopped as something occurred to him, and not for the first time. He couldn’t give Rhodey an answer, because ever since he woke up in Hydra’s underground base, he’d realized many of his memories were spotty at best, some – like Stane – had been manipulated, and others were missing entirely.

_Hydra’s agent, my ass,_ Tony couldn’t help but scoff mentally.

Hydra had done too good of a job, making his false memories _too_ real, and now he couldn’t trust any of his memories. The worst were those that came after Ivan Vanko had made his appearance; everything was blurry and there were swathes of time of which he remembered nothing at all. Everything that had happened during that time felt unreal, including Pepper. It made him to want to shoot himself with a Mem-o-ray, if only such a thing existed.

He didn’t know where they stood. Or more specifically, where their relationship stood. All he had was JARVIS confirmation of a termination of their ‘relationship’, whatever that meant. All he had were questions. Questions he wanted to ask to Rhodey, like: why had they ended their romantic relationship? Was it Tony’s fault? Who had second thoughts? Wait, scratch that. It was kinda self-explanatory, since Tony knew he wouldn’t have, because – before Hydra decided to muck about with his brain - he had always felt Pepper was his last shot at a true ‘pursuit of happiness’. It was a fact to him, one predating the path of the Earth’s rotation around the sun. The knowledge was immutable, unquestionable; and the idea of having second thoughts based on that? Impossible.

But that was before.

In the end, Tony didn’t bother to ask, because he knew it would only result in Rhodey’s incredulity, concern, and possibility some form of involuntary commitment to a psychiatric ward. Because, Tony Stark forgetting his time with Pepper Potts? That was reason enough to send him straight to the loony bin, right into a straitjacket. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

So instead, Tony went with, “Oh, right. Of course.” He barely managed to make his voice sound even. “Just making sure if we were on same page.”

“Riiiiight,” Rhodey drew the word out, his voice oozing skepticism. “Then why do I get the feeling we just had two entirely different conversations?”

And this was why Tony hadn’t wanted to have this whole talk with Rhodey. He was far too perceptive and able to scent Tony’s bullshit miles away.

“I’m not going to try again with Pep.”

Rhodey gaped at him. “Why the hell not?”

_Lots of reasons_. For one, Tony was the leader of Hydra, an evil organization whose ideology went against her firm ethics and morality, you know, basically everything she believed in. Secondly, if they were involved romantically, Pepper would become a target to Tony’s enemies. Thirdly, if they dated, Tony knew he would have to lie to her, essentially poisoning the very foundation of their romantic relationship from the start and ruining their friendship for good. Then there was the fourth and biggest reason: Tony didn’t want a relationship anymore, at least, not with Pepper.

Someone else had been added to the equation.

“It wouldn’t work.” Tony didn’t know which of them was more surprised to hear those words come out of Tony’s mouth, but it was the truth. “We couldn’t have worked.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows shot up near his hairline. “You can’t know that.”

“That’s the thing, though. I _do_ know,” Tony replied with certainty. “You know it too—oh, don’t you even try and deny it,” he said, when Rhodey opened his mouth to protest. “Come on, Rhodey, do you honestly believe me and Pepper could work?”

Rhodey fell silent, considering for a moment, before answering, “I think you could’ve worked . . . before Iron Man.”

Tony’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Maybe. The only problem is, Iron Man is _me_.” He looked at the blue horizon. He let out a sigh before saying, “I . . .  I would rather have her as a friend than the other way around.”

The colonel looked at him for a long moment, then stated aloud, “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“What changed?”

That question caused Tony to pause for a bit, because it was a rather loaded question. He was pretty sure there was a time when he would have given anything, given up anything – even Iron Man – to make Pepper happy. Or at least, he would have killed himself trying to be the man she wanted. There wasn’t even a 0.00000001% chance of him doing anything like that now, and he was uncertain about how to explain all that thoughts and experiences that had caused such a shift in him . He didn’t think he could, at least not in coherent sentences, and certainly not without revealing all his secrets. Looking back, Tony wasn’t sure if he knew the answer himself. Oddly enough, the thought that he no longer felt any inclination to bend himself to even Pepper’s expectations didn’t disturb him or make him feel remotely guilty. Not for the first time, he questioned whether this was a byproduct of what Hydra had done to his brain, or if it was just a natural evolution.

“Does it matter?” Tony queried aloud, the question more rhetorical than anything else. “We’re not getting back together, definitely not now and not in the future.”

“I guess not,” Rhodey conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just. . . I really thought you and Pepper would end up together.”

“So did I, at one point,” Tony admitted quietly.

Rhodey said nothing in response. His understanding nod was answer enough, and then he shifted his gaze to the surroundings, staring in wonder. He had seen many places he’d considered beautiful before, but Rhodey had never truly realized the extent of the breathtaking views nature had to offer. “Man, you sure picked an awesome spot.” 

“I should build a boathouse here, from scratch with my bare hands,” Tony announced loudly. “Then, after completion, I would wake up every day to a view like this.”

“You’d be bored by the third day.”

Tony grinned, because that sounded very much like him. “Maybe.”

JARVIS’ voice came, over the com nestled in Tony’s ear, mildly startling him, _“Excuse me Sir. I’m sorry for the interruption but there’s something that requires your attention.”_

Tony’s eyes unfocused where they were hidden behind his sunglasses, as he took in JARVIS’ words. “Is it urgent?”

Rhodey gave him a frown, confused by the non-sequitur.

“ _It may be, depending on your conclusion._ ”

“JARVIS.” Tony mouthed to Rhodey as an explanation, watching as his friend’s face cleared of confusion, before turning his attention back to Jarvis, “Alright, hit me.”

_“The search algorithm you set based on the guidelines of your father’s charted map from his expeditions has finished running, and I believe there are four locations that seem promising.”_

“How promising?”

_“Roughly about sixty to eighty-one percent.”_

“That’s  . . . a lot more than I expected.”

_“There’s more,”_ JARVIS told him through his earpiece. “ _Via satellites, I mapped out one of the locations—Greenland within the Arctic Circle to be specific—and my thermal imaging scans show indications of recent activities. At first, I believed it to be a magnetic anomaly, but when I ran visual imagery over the source, it revealed what seems to be a base or station of some sort.”_

“You’re kidding me,” Tony said, incredulous. “Do you have it time stamped?”

“ _Yes,_ ” JARVIS affirmed, pausing for a bit. “ _It might interest you to know, I have been looking for any information regarding this station but have found nothing. There are no traces of shipping manifests, nor any indication as to which signatory country of the Antarctic Treaty the base belongs to. I can’t find any trail of budget allocations that have been approved by any government or private company. As it stands, this station doesn’t exist on paper or in any mainframe database of any known systems.”_

That sounded oddly familiar to Tony. “One of ours?” he queried.

Rhodey, who was basking in the view before him, and enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face, had noticed the shift in Tony’s voice and turned his head to look at his friend.

_“No, sir. I double and triple checked. There’s nothing in Hydra’s database that suggests anything of the sort.”_

Tony narrowed his eyes, not even surprised. “Then it’s the other one.” He pulled his sunglasses off and handed them to Rhodey, who took them without question. Then Tony lifted the helmet over his head, putting it back on. “Alright, J. Get everything ready and up in the lab. I’ll be there soon.”

“Something came up?” Rhodey asked curiously, twirling Tony’s sunglasses with his armored fingers.

Iron Man’s golden faceplate slid shut with an audible click, just in time for his eyes to glow at Rhodey. “You could say that,” Tony replied, voice sounding slightly tinny through the Iron Man speakers.

“Dangerous?”

Iron Man paused to consider. “I don’t know yet.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “Want my help?” he asked, deliberately keeping his tone casual, not letting his concern at this sudden turn of events color his voice.

“Nah, I got this.”

Iron Man gave a lazy salute before he pushed himself off the edge, dropping like a stone towards the sea, and disappearing from Rhodey’s view. It was only for a second, then the roar of repulsors filled Rhodey’s ears, and he watched Iron Man blast into the skies, tunneling through the clouds.

“Yeah . . .  that went well,” Rhodey sighed, to no one in particular.

*****

The motorcycle roared at full speed heading away from  the city’s center. The tires slashed through puddles left by a recent rain, as the bike weaved through the nearly nonexistent traffic, the streets all but deserted so late at night. Five minutes later, Yasha had entered a business district, and what little traffic there had been was gone.   His black gloves flexed on the handles, forcing the bike to go faster, leaving the wide street behind as he slid onto a bridge lit by flickering streetlamps.

Yasha floored the brake, smoothly skidding to a halt—the roar abruptly snuffed into silence. He removed the key from the ignition, pocketing it. As he dismounted from the bike, he pulled his helmet off, threading it onto the handlebar. He glanced around, calmly surveying his surroundings, checking for points of vulnerability, noting where there was potential cover, and finally, factoring in the height and distance of his position from the street below. He frowned, clearly dissatisfied, the street was four lanes of open ground, surrounded by shops and businesses on either side. The only cover was a bus stop with a large ad display to his left, about twenty meters back the way he’d come. Of course, there were alleys and side streets that could be used for cover, but they also provided too many escape routes for his opponents.  Yasha huffed, what he wouldn’t give for a box canyon with a few large fallen rocks, but he’d work with what he had. Besides, it wasn’t like he was unprepared. 

“What’s the ETA?”

_“Based on the traffic cams, about sixty seconds,”_ JARVIS replied, voice certain.

Yasha pulled an assault rifle, fitted with a grenade launcher, from the motorcycle’s side-mounted holster and strolled to the center of the bridge at a lazy pace. He stood in the middle of the road with the rifle cradled in his arm, facing the night and the deserted street below.

Everything was quiet. Only the soft rumble of a car could be heard in the distance.

A black van with tinted windows came into view, followed by another three identical vehicles trailing behind the first. The assassin brought the rifle to his shoulder, weight shifting as his body settled into a shooting stance. He held the gun steady as he aimed, body automatically compensating for the weight of the grenade launcher.  As he sighted down the barrel, he focused on his breathing. In. Out. Here inhaled deeply, trapping the air in his lungs, before letting it out simultaneously as he squeezed the trigger. The recoil was strong enough to shove Yasha back an inch on the slick pavement. His supersoldier ears ringing from the report, he watched the grenade round whiz toward the van like a shooting star, before plowing through the windshield where Yasha could actually hear it thud inside.

Through the cracked windshield, he saw a flash of white light bloom for a second, before ballooning into a cloud of fire. Not for the first time, he cursed his enhanced hearing, as the roar from the explosion added to the cacophony in his head.

From the time Yasha had taken the shot, up until the grenade went off, the van had not stopped, or even slowed down. The explosion knocked the vehicle in the air, along with a cloud of smoke and debris. It flipped over three times, each with a thundering crash, as it tumbled and skidded forward along the road. It finally came to a grinding halt a good fifty meters from where it had begun, having landed on its roof in the last roll.. When the van ultimately stopped,  it was barely visible from Yasha’s position, having ended up almost entirely under the bridge. The squealing of brakes came loud from the direction of the road, as the other vans skidded to a stop to avoid colliding with the overturned vehicle.

The sound of the brakes spurred Yasha into action, and he vaulted over the bridge, plummeting toward the demolished vehicle below. His boots landed on the undercarriage and the metal bent inward under the force of impact. He paused for a moment, braced for any movement or sounds of life from within the van, but none came, and Yasha allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

“ _Mr. Barnes, you have a phone call from sir,_ ” came JARVIS’ polite voice.

The fire still roared around the wreckage, partially obscuring his vision with smoke, but Yasha could still make out the other vans, and he fired his launcher again, aiming for the one that had skidded to a stop not ten meters from his position. The grenade hit the pavement in front of one of the other vehicles, and Yasha crouched, metal arm in front of his face, as a tremendous explosion rocked the other van, and glass and metal debris shot out from all four sides, followed by a spray of fire and black smoke.

Instantly, a van to Yasha’s right and outside of the blast began pouring out men and women, all carrying a variety of automatic rifles.

Yasha knew them, had known them for many years. Not their names, of course—at least, not at first. In that world, they didn’t bother with names, but Yasha had remembered their faces. It had been enough for him to delve through the Hydra database to find them and memorize their names. Now, he knew each of their names by heart. Rosario. Moore. Myers. Koch. Petrov. Maes.

There were four more who Yasha didn’t recognize, but that didn’t really matter when he saw them raise their guns at him.

“Tell him I’m busy,” Yasha told JARVIS.

All ten of his opponents opened fire, and Yasha pitched forward off the vehicle, ducking low and dropping his weapon to raise his metal arm. He used his arm as a shield, deflecting the bullets and lunging at the nearest gunman — which ended up being Koch — barreling hard into the other man with his shoulder, like a pro-football player, and sending Koch crashing to the pavement.

Near Yasha, Rosario’s face morphed into something like defiance as she lifted her assault rifle to shoot at him, but the older assassin grabbed hold of her arm, forcing the gun’s muzzle into the air. The rattle of the gunfire seemed to come from everywhere, the sound thrumming loudly in Yasha’s eardrums, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the stutter of light coming from an assault rifle to his right. Gritting his teeth, Yasha jerked Rosario forward to his side. Using the woman’s body as a shield, Yasha charged in the direction of the muzzle flash. Yasha felt Rosario’s body jerk and shudder, as the bullets peppered into her, before he slammed her against the others, toppling two to the ground, along with Rosario’s now very dead body. Yasha grabbed the third gunman’s weapon with his flesh hand, wrenching it roughly out of the other man’s grasp, and then throwing the gun aside. He finished with a jab of his metal elbow to the man’s throat. _Two down,_ Yasha thought.

_“Might I remind you that you agreed to sir’s terms and they are non-negotiable,”_ JARVIS began, as Yasha punched the third gunman into unconsciousness, _“therefore, you should answer his call.”_

“Fine,” Yasha grunted out, dodging another hail of gunfire, cybernetic arm again rising over his head as protection from the bullets flying at his head, while his flesh hand pulled his SIG-Sauer from the holster on his right thigh before returning fire, with several shots in quick succession. Two of his opponents fell, forcing the rest to retreat a bit further back. Yasha could hear the gurgling of the fallen men for a few moments longer, but soon there was only silence from them. _That’s four._

_“Hey there, Mr. Potato Arm,”_ Tony’s voice greeted pleasantly in Yasha’s ears.

Yasha ran down to the bus stop, dodging and weaving until he took cover by darting around an ad display in his path, his action followed by the rapid sound of shots. He threw himself flat against the wall and held his breath, taking note that the gunfire seemed to be coming from two directions, north and roughly east of his position, somewhere near the bridge.

“Tony,” Yasha managed to articulate, between rapid breaths, ignoring the loud _rat-tat-tat-tat_ from the rifles and the ringing cascade of fiberglass, plastic and metal vibrating against his back, as the bullets tried to reach him. The display shook hard enough that the water from the rain, that still clung to its surface, sprinkle down on him. “This is the third time you’ve called me in the middle of a shootout.”

“ _Really? I thought that last call was during a knife fight.”_

“It started a shootout,” Yasha corrected, throwing his left arm up protectively over his face as the left side of the ad display was ripped apart by a swarm of bullets, covering him in debris and leaving a section of wall that was more holes than anything else. “But never mind that — the point is that if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were purposely calling whenever I’m busy.”

_“Can you blame me? You get all growly, sort of scratchy with that hint of steel in your voice. It gives me shivers. So talk dirty to me, hotstuff.”_

Yasha couldn’t fight the amused grin creeping over his mouth, stomach fluttering pleasantly at the warm playful voice purring in his ear.

_“Plus, I like watching your back, which - by the way - pube-stache_ _at your two o’clock.”_

Automatically, Yasha fired three rounds in that direction, without really looking first, satisfied when he heard a grunt of pain, followed by a loud thud and a clatter not far from him. “Got eyes on me?”

_“Yup, got a nice view from a few CCTV feeds in your area, and don’t worry, every recorded surveillance footage from thirty minutes prior to the fight and in a one mile radius will be deleted about . . .”_ Over the comms the clicking of keyboards was audible. “ _now.”_ Yasha could almost hear Tony’s smirk. “ _Perks of being a genius.”_

“Good to know.” Yasha looked up at the café next to him, noticing the security camera. He gave it a wave. “My voice, eh?” He purposely lowered his voice, adding just a little more gruffness for Tony’s benefit, “Don’t tell me you’re the type that clutches their pearls and will swoon at my feet with just my voice?”

_“Clutch my pearls? Is that a phrase from way back in the prehistoric era.”_

Yasha rolled his eyes, changing out the magazine of his Sauer. “It’s not.” He jerked a bit when several bullets punched through the display, mere inches from his face, “I heard it in that Dangerous Liaisons film, I think. And you can thank JARVIS, since you put him up to ‘teach’ me pop culture.”

_“Dangerous Liaisons?”_ Tony exclaimed, scandalized. Yasha felt his lips twitch in a smile at the other man’s dramatics, then winced when the Tony’s voice rose suddenly, “JARVIS! What were you thinking showing Yasha-”

Yasha was distracted briefly from whatever else Tony was saying, as while the firing to the north had stopped, his enemies to the east kept up their continuous assault. After only a few moments, Yasha tuned back into the conversation going on in his ear.

“- _from now on you are no longer in charge of educating Yasha! We are going to have **words** , JARVIS!”_ Tony’s tone suddenly changed, the emotion in his voice becoming muted, as he spoke, “ _Two men approaching at your four. The other two are camping behind the parked van at seven o’clock_ _. One is hiding inside the other one.”_

As if on cue, the puddle a meter away reflected two blurry figures creeping towards him, a few feet from where Yasha stood, revealing his enemies’ position. Yasha drew his knife and bolted around the ad display. With a single quick and hard jab, he drove the blade between Petrov’s ribs. Petrov didn’t even have time to scream, as he staggered at the force of the thrust, then Yasha pushed him aside, diving and skidding on his knees to evade the shot from the second man, ignoring the water that soaked his clothes. Yasha aimed his Sauer without thinking and pulled the trigger, taking out the second man with a point blank shot in the center of his chest. _Seven down, three to go._

The enemies to the north resumed their gunfire and Yasha scrambled away from the two dead men, rolling forward into the street. He came smoothly to his feet and was about to make a break for an alleyway for cover, when Yasha heard a loud shrieking squeal of tires.

Yasha’s head jerked up, and he saw headlights zooming directly towards him, a vivid white light that was  too bright, blinding Yasha from where he stood and then—

It happened so fast that Yasha could only react. Dropping his Sauer, Yasha jumped just before the van hit, throwing his body forward, pulling in his arms and legs.  He flew over the hood in a parody of a somersault but had enough awareness to snag the edge of the roof where it met the windshield with his metal hand. His body jerked with the abrupt interruption of his momentum. His limbs flailed instinctively, and with a loud crash, he landed flat on his stomach on the roof of the van. The metal under him caved in under his weight, as Yasha’s fingers clutched tightly to the edges of the slippery wet roof to keep his body from being thrown off when the van plowed into the wreckage of the second burning van and then careened into still aflame metal carcass under the bridge, pushing the it aside likes a bulldozer. The van jolted violently at each impact, nearly flinging Yasha off, debris flying in all directions. He tucked his face into his shoulder to protect his eyes from the smoke and flames. Bits of metal from the wrecks had become shrapnel as they were thrown into the air, and Yasha could only grit his teeth and hope none of it would penetrate his armor.

It took Yasha a moment to realize the van wasn’t stopping. Worse, it kept accelerating, speed rapidly increasing.

_“Yasha?”_ Tony’s voice was alarmed through the comm. “ _Yasha, you okay?”_       

The city lights passed around him in a blur and Yasha let out an angry growl, scooting further back so he was almost kneeling, before he slammed his cybernetic fist through the cracked windshield with his full force, shattering the window completely. Yasha fisted the driver’s clothes through the gaping hole and with inhuman strength the assassin pulled the man out of the driver’s seat and threw him into the road, as if the man weighted nothing.

Satisfied that had done the job, Yasha turned around, getting his feet under him in a low crouch as best he could, and then he leapt into the air. Yasha rolled as he hit the ground hard, and kept rolling for several feet before he dug his metallic fingers into the pavement to stop his roll, but his momentum carried him further for a few feet more, leaving trailing gouges in the asphalt.

There was a loud crash in the distance, but Yasha didn’t bother to look to see where or what the van had crashed into. Instead, Yasha focused on the sound of a groan behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to find the driver had survived the fall, laying in the middle of the road, clutching his midsection in apparent injury. Without fanfare, Yasha climbed to his feet, grabbed his Glock from his shoulder’s holster, movements slow and deliberate. A single shot rang out loudly, and a second later, the driver slumped. _That’s eight._

_“Is it weird that I find this hot?”_

“Yes.”

There was an awkward pause. _“Okay, then.”_

At the sound of the crash, the buildings’ windows around him lit up almost in unison, as the tenants who lived above their shops gathered to stare down, trying to discern the cause of the commotion. Yasha ignored the gawkers and looked back up the road, realizing he was quite a bit farther from where he’d started.

As much as Yasha wanted to call it a night, due to the new eyewitnesses, the job wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. Two of the enemy were still out there, and Yasha was aware of the danger they posed to Tony, conspiring against him in the shadows. The idea of Tony being kidnapped, tortured, or even killed by these men gave Yasha a fierce desire to tear the city apart in order to find them, before they could so much as touch a hair on Tony’s head.

“Are there any still here?” Yasha asked; he doubted they’d be so foolish, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

Thankfully, Tony didn’t ask for an explanation. _“No, those last two made a break for it as soon you went around the corner with that van.”_

“Where are they now?”

_“Give me a sec.”_ Yasha could hear a splashing noise that sounded suspiciously like a cup sloshing liquid onto a surface. _“Running the facial recognition and . . .   got it! They’re on foot, somewhere between the Gustav Gata and Tågagatan.”_

“How far?”

_“Three klicks.”_

Yasha’s mind worked fast, trying to recall the street map he had studied the day before and found that the odds weren’t in his favor. Even if he ran at full speed and took shortcuts, it would take him nearly ten minutes to get there and they would be long gone already. They were Hydra agents, trained to disappear into a crowd and leave unseen from any type of location. He wouldn’t be able to keep tabs on them.

No, running wouldn’t work, but Yasha had a better idea.

He glanced at the highest building in his vicinity, which was three blocks down from where he stood and then ran toward it.

_“Er. . . where are you going? Aren’t you going after the other guys?”_

“I can do one better,” Yasha grunted out, as he reached the building and saw a door ahead of him. He threw his weight into it, forcing the hinges to tear off the frame and the door crashed to the ground. He flew inside without stopping.

_“Okaaay_ ,” Tony drew the word out, as if he was trying to process the information. “ _I’m not gonna ask why you’re suddenly in the mood for breaking and entering, but I thought you should know there are cops on the way. I’m delaying them as best I can with traffic lights, but that won’t slow them that much.”_

“How long do I have?”

_“About ten minutes or so.”_

“Not bad. I can do a lot in ten minutes.”

_“Alright then, let me light the way.”_

The lights around Yasha flickered on, revealing a lobby with a reception area and some chairs. Across the room from him, the elevator pinged open and Yasha gaped for a moment. It still astounded him how good Tony was at making intuitive leaps, with only the barest of information at hand. Yasha had known Tony was brilliant but seeing little things like this made it seem more real.

“Thanks,” Yasha murmured as he stepped into the elevator, watching the doors slide shut.

As Yasha was enclosed in the elevator, without any way to escape or distractions, Tony took the opportunity to ask Yasha, his tone incredulous, _“Dangerous Liaisons, really?”_

“I liked it,” Yasha admitted with a shrug. “Saw the other adaptation too.”

_“Aw, Buckaroo, you’re killing me.”_

Yasha grinned at the camera in the elevator but decided to take pity on his friend. “Would it help if I told you JARVIS showed me your favorites?”

There was a small pause. “ _It would, if you liked them.”_

“I’m not sure if my taste is any good or if it should even count, considering my brain’s been put through a blender, but I liked the rest of your list.  It felt a bit weird watching Predator, otherwise it was alright. I love Up, though, and I can’t seem to stop watching The Twilight Zone.”

_“Me neither,_ ” Tony admitted, “ _Some parts in the episodes are either outdated or irrelevant when you apply them to today, but I still like them anyway. And besides, that’s part of their charm. Regardless, there are episodes that stand the test of times, make you question ideas and contemplate the deeper meanings of what you watched.”_

Surprisingly, Yasha fell silent at that, mulling over the words until the elevator’s doors opened with a ping.

The floor was a library, sporting nine foot windows and large bookcases, but Yasha wasn’t interested in any of it, even if the design of the room was impressive. “Where’s the staircase?”

_“To your left.”_

And sure enough, there was the door at the end of the room, labeled with an exit sign, so Yasha sprinted towards it. Yasha burst through the door and rushed up the stairs, taking the steps four at time. Suddenly, childish laughter echoed in the stairwell.

Yasha froze, almost at the last step. Carefully, so as not to announce his presence, he leaned over the railing and caught a glimpse of an olive skirt.

Below him, a little girl came into view. He could see the bows on the top of her brown hair that curled around her little shoulders. Her dress was frilly, but also shabby and worn. There was nothing about it to make him , and yet something about the situation seemed off for some reason, although he couldn’t pinpoint why. Yasha frowned as a feeling of déjà vu swept through him. The scene was oddly familiar.

His heart started to beat erratically when he realized the little’s girl dress seemed wrong, because it belonged in the twenties. Not only that, he recognized the girl.

“Becky?” Yasha whispered, his voice hoarse.

As if the little girl had heard him, she lifted her head and smiled.

_“Five minutes until the cops get there.”_

The sound of Tony’s voice seemed to break the spell, and the girl faded away like a blown-out candle flame, dissolving into wisps of smoke. Spooked beyond measure, Yasha pulled back from the rail and shook his head, forcing himself to keep going.

When he opened the roof-access door, Yasha took a moment to breathe deeply of the fresh air of . The cool wind on his clammy skin helped him to focus.

“Where are they?” Yasha asked, as he yanked a G28 from the back of his armored vest, wishing he had a proper sniper rifle, preferably an M24.

_“They just crossed Brommagatan.”_

Yasha walked to the north-east edge of the roof, and from his vantage point, Yasha could see the street Tony had specified. He brought the gun to his shoulder and took aim, looking through the scope.

Almost immediately, two figures appeared in the crosshair, running at the end of the road. Yasha recognized them as Meyer and Koch. He kept his gaze focused on them, tracking their progress, waiting for the right moment, praying that one of them wouldn’t slip around a corner or into one of the alleys branching off the main road.

Yasha knew the moment he took out one of them, he would have only seconds before the other reacted and then either tried to dodge or take cover, but Yasha hoped it wouldn’t come to that.  He took a deep breath, steadying his grip on his G28, as his mind ran through the wind factor, distance, and angle measurements. Then he exhaled, squeezing the trigger.

The report of the shot was loud in the air, leaving a ringing – again, fucking super senses - in Yasha’s ears. He barely registered seeing the bullet strike Koch in the chest, because immediately after that first shot, Yasha was taking aim at the second man and pulling the trigger once again. This time he kept his focus on Meyer, watching as the shot struck him in the chest and his body crumpled to the ground.

Through the scope, Yasha could see both men’s bodies lying prostrated in the middle of the road.

_“Wow. That’s . . .  pretty impressive.”_

Yasha grunted in response.

_“Two minutes.”_ Tony reminded him. _“Job’s done. Start running. Chop, chop.”_

As if to confirm Tony’s words, Yasha heard sirens in the distance, faint but growing steadily louder as seconds ticked by. He stored his G28 and looked over the edge of the roof. Luckily for him, a fire escape waited below.

“Tony?”

_“Yeah?”_

“Thanks.”

Yasha jumped.

*****

After JARVIS confirmed Yasha had escaped unscathed, right out from under the police’s presence, Tony shut off the comm link. He felt the tension in his shoulder ease but only slightly.

Tony looked back up at the holographic screen in front of him, his stomach churning unpleasantly. “Run it again.”

JARVIS pulled up the latest state of the art facial recognition program again and ran it against footage from hundreds of different surveillance cameras covering all the angles in Time Square.

_“Completed,”_ JARVIS announced. _“100% match.”_

Swallowing the heavy lump in his throat, Tony leaned back into his chair, letting the information soak in. He hadn’t expected this; none of his projected scenarios had come even close.

When Tony had begun his foray for Captain America, he had only _hoped_ that — by some miracle — he might find out what had happened to Steve Rogers. And if he found Steve’s body? Even better. Physical evidence was easier to believe and plus, Tony could bring Steve’s body back home for Yasha. Let him decide what to do with his friend. Bury him, build a statue, or cremate his body, shoot him into the sun, or whatever Yasha wanted.

However, that idea was thrown out the window the moment JARVIS had discovered the base in Greenland. The recorded satellite images JARVIS had pulled from private intelligence agencies were interesting. They showed two dozen people popping in and out, bringing in heavy equipment for digging at a site just outside the base. It had quickly become clear that the station had been set up for a single purpose and Tony and there was only one that would have garnered such an amount of manpower and the budget to cover the men and equipment. Sure, all he’d had were speculations, nothing concrete to back them up, but Tony hadn’t let that deter him , so he‘d kept on looking, fast-forwarding through the images.

The time stamps on the satellite images revealed that only four months after first setting up the base, it had suddenly vanished. One day, the base station was there and the next it was gone, nothing left behind, just barren winter land with snow and rocks for miles and miles. There was no in between. It was nothing short of impressive how neatly they had cleaned up after themselves, leaving no traces behind at all.

Which meant one of four things: They had moved on after realizing there was nothing to find; their budget had run out; someone higher up the chain had pulled the plug for some reason; or they had found something or someone.

Tony had the feeling it was the latter.

The biggest question hadn’t been why, how or even what. It was _who_. Who were they? Which, if any, organization out there had set up the base in first place?

Except that particular question was a no brainer for Tony.

S.H.I.E.L.D was the only organization that had the resources, manpower, and the ability to skip all the usual legalese, and the only one with a real interest in the prize: Captain America. They wouldn’t even need the man alive; just Steve’s body would be enough for them. Enough for their scientists to try and figure out how the super serum worked. If they were able to unravel even a _quarter_ of how Erskine’s serum functioned, it would mean armies of super soldiers.

No more Avengers Initiative.

Suddenly, the image of Yasha’s thousand-yard stare had flashed in Tony’s mind, and he’d felt his teeth grind together, as his jaw tightened. Tony couldn’t help but imagine Yasha strapped to an operating table, half-sedated and pale, while some of S.H.I.E.L.D’s scientists tried to replicate the bastardized serum running in Yasha’s blood. An awful sense of dread churned away in Tony’s stomach, making him queasy. He shook his head to chase the image away.

Fueled by paranoia, Tony had put his thinking cap on and begun searching. It took him a while, even with JARVIS’ help, but after three weeks, he had managed to crack S.H.I.E.L.D’s firewalls and rummage through their mainframe to his heart’s content. It had taken him another few days of combing through endless data, careful not to alert S.H.I.E.L.D. to his digital presence, that Tony hit the jackpot.

And holy fuck, Tony wished he hadn’t.

Tony’s eyes flickered back to the holographic images, staring at the clean jaw lines, parted hair, and eyes filled with determination in the photo on the outdated military ID. Next to the ID was an image from a CTTV showing the same man, this time in Times Square, his expression etched with panic warring with confusion and despair.

It was the look of a man who had lost everything.

Steven Grant Rogers. Alias: Captain America. The Star Spangled Man with a Plan.

Status: _Alive._

God, it was worse than Tony had thought.

Really, in hindsight, he should’ve expected it. He should’ve known Captain America would survive the freezing temperatures in the Arctic. Heck, Tony had seen with his own eyes the physical evidence of what the serum could do, when he pulled Yasha out of cryogenic freeze. He could remember vividly the moment when Yasha’s gray skin had turned pink, his chest shuddering to take that first breath and how he had shivered for nearly two hours before opening those blue, blue eyes.

Tony waved his hand sharply; the abrupt gesture sent the pictures — and the rest of the hijacked files along with the satellite images contained within — flying into the ether of Stark’s private servers, shutting it down as Tony continued to brood. If he were honest with himself, he hadn’t really allowed himself to consider the scientific likelihood of Steve’s survival, because in reality, he had _hoped_ Steve was dead.

It was selfish, Tony knew, but he couldn’t help but feel that way. Things would’ve been so much easier if Steve were actually dead. It wasn’t that Tony didn’t think the guy deserved a second life after the shit ending of his first one  — he did, in some distant part of himself, he actually _did_ —it was just that he didn’t want to lose Yasha because of this.

Realistically, Tony knew it was an irrational fear, but Steve was a big part of Yasha’s past. Enormous, even. Jesus, they’d been childhood friends and then comrades in arms. Friendship like that? Impossible to break.  Even more telling, Yasha had nearly died to protect Steve.

How could Tony even begin to measure up to that? Next to Steve, Tony felt insignificant, like an ant struggling over the pedestal of an imposing monument, unable to reach the top. He’d survived years of living in a dead man’s shadow with his father; he didn’t think he’d be able to do the same with Yasha, especially now the Captain was _alive_.

For one sheer moment of insanity, Tony considered erasing everything he’d found and pretending that nothing had changed and going on with his life, leaving Yasha in the dark. The thought lasted barely a second before Tony discarded it with a violent shake of his head.

Tony sighed. As much he wanted to brush everything under the rug, he couldn’t do that to Yasha. The last thing Tony wanted to do was to deprive Yasha of his choice. No, the burden of how they would proceed with this new information would fall solely on Yasha’s shoulders and no one else’s.

As it should.

Tony stared at his console, seeing nothing and feeling hollowed out. He wanted to let out hysterical laughter when it occurred to him that the empty sensation growing in his chest was oddly reminiscent of the sensation when he had woken in that dark cave and seen the cables of a car battery protruding from a hole in his chest for the first time.

Exhaling, Tony stood up and made his way over to the cabinet where his alcoholic beverages were stored and went straight for the aged whiskey, instead of playing it safe with beers. His hands were shaking so hard that he almost dropped the tumbler.

“Oh, fuck it.” Tony set the bottle of the whiskey down hard, nearly cracking it. “JARVIS, locate Captain America. _Now_.”


End file.
